The Left Coast
by Layla Reyne
Summary: Elena Gilbert is a driven, ambitious senior associate in the New York office of one of the country's top law firms. When she's sent to the firm's San Francisco office to close a deal for a major client, sparks fly in and out of the boardroom between her and fellow senior associate, Damon Salvatore. AU/AH; multi-chapter.
1. Eyes on the Prize

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N:** After seeing several posts on Tumblr expressing an interest in DE AU/AH stories set outside the usual locales of VA and NYC, I thought it'd be fun to feature my own town, San Francisco, in a story. So, fair warning, this fic is as much a love song to the Bay Area as it is a love story about Damon and Elena. I hope you enjoy it!

_Thanks to the marvelous Sandra (dutchtreat), who is on board to beta this story, and to Summer (Wilb) and Kate (This Is My Escape) for their pre-reading input. Kate was also gracious enough to read the story outline and give me the all clear / no conflict with what she has planned for Four Lettered Lie, so extra special thanks for her blessing. And the beautiful cover art for this story is courtesy of the very talented Nitsi (sm0lderhalders)._

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 1 – Eyes on the Prize**_

"Salvatore. Get in here!"

Shooting his phone a deadly glare, Damon Salvatore groaned as he looked up from his already very crowded desk. It was covered in marked-up merger and acquisition agreements, random post-it notes and binders full of due diligence materials. Deal traffic didn't usually pick up like this until the fall, but their practice group had been slammed since spring and the flood of work showed no signs of letting up.

Every client wanted their deal done before the Labor Day holiday, just two months away, and as a senior M&A associate at Benton Pryce, one of the country's most prestigious law firms, he ran point on M&A deals by himself these days. On top of all the substantive work involved, such as drafting and negotiating term sheets and deal documents, he was also responsible for managing a small army of junior associates and their clients' - often times insane - expectations.

When his boss, Elijah Mikaelson, Partner-in-Charge of the San Francisco office and the Chair of the firm's West Coast M&A practice, called him into his office, it usually meant one of a few things. He either wanted a status update on his current workload, he had a new deal for him or he wanted to talk soccer. Damon had taken his boss to several 49er games, but despite his move to the States as a teenager, Elijah still had some peculiar European tendencies about him, like insisting that "football" did not involve pigskin, period. In any event, Damon really didn't have time for any of that right now. As much as he'd prefer talking sports - even fucking soccer - the pile of work staring him in the face demanded otherwise.

Clicking his mouse twice to save and close the document he'd been working on, Damon rose from his desk and snagged a legal pad before heading down the hallway to Elijah's corner office. Where his own office was the generic associate's office – limited space, east-facing City view, built-in desk, bookcase and file shelves – Elijah's office came with all the perks befitting an important, powerful partner at the firm.

He had at least three times as much space as Damon and custom-made furniture, all relatively modern and minimalist in its styling, including a black leather couch and glass coffee table in one corner. But the real kicker was the view. Being on the northwest corner of the fifteenth floor in the Transamerica Pyramid afforded Elijah with clear views of North Beach, Saints Peter and Paul Church and Coit Tower. Eight years later, Damon still found himself awe-struck whenever he walked into this office, and truth be told, he coveted it more than a little.

Lowering himself into one of the leather-backed guest chairs facing his boss's desk, Damon crossed his legs and set his legal pad on his knee, waiting for Elijah to finish whatever he was typing. The man hated to waste a spare billable second. He had probably squeezed in another email or call during the thirty seconds it had taken Damon to walk down the hall to his office.

"I'm taking you off the Powell Street Ventures and Finnegan Nash deals," Elijah spoke up a couple minutes later.

"Is there a problem?" Damon asked, suddenly straightening in his chair. As far as he knew those two clients were perfectly happy with his work. In fact, he'd just been to a Giants game last week with Powell Street's CEO, who'd promised to send the firm more business.

"On the contrary, both are extremely pleased with your work," Elijah answered, turning in his chair to face him and folding his hands on top of a file sitting on the desk.

Damon relaxed a little, but he was still confused. "So then why the staffing shift?"

"You've heard of Shaw Pharmaceuticals, I presume?"

"Sure," Damon replied with a shrug. "They're one of New York's clients. Big pharma company in the Northeast."

"I just got a call from my New York counterpart, Bill Tanner. Shaw is looking to expand its operations." Elijah slid the file across the desk to Damon. "They've put in an offer to purchase Lundell Bioworks."

Opening the file in his lap, Damon flipped through the term sheet, quickly scanning for the pertinent details, and when he reached the purchase price, he couldn't help the whistle that escaped his lips. This deal was huge; it'd certainly be his biggest. He knew a little about Shaw, but a lot more about Lundell. Several of his undergrad classmates from Berkeley were scientists there now.

Originally a Bay Area start-up, Lundell had become a major research and pharmaceutical player in the California biotech industry over the past ten years with facilities in San Jose, Irvine and San Diego. The price tag was steep, but if their client Shaw was serious about expanding its operations to the West Coast, purchasing Lundell would most definitely fast track their efforts.

"Now do you understand why I'm clearing your plate?" Elijah asked, leaning back in his chair and propping an ankle on his knee.

Damon nodded, closing the file and setting it back on the desk with his legal pad. "I'm surprised New York is giving us the reigns on this one. Shaw is their client. Seems like they'd want to maintain control."

"Which is why you'll be tag-teaming it. They're sending out another senior associate to work on the deal with you."

"Who?" Damon asked, raising his eyebrows.

While he wasn't opposed to sharing the load, especially on a deal this big, his experience with the firm's New York associates had been a mixed bag. All of them were smart, of course, and a few of them he'd even consider having a drink with, but the majority of them were the 'all work, no play, stick up their ass' variety. An all too common breed there, and one of the primary reasons he'd turned down offers from several of the top firms in New York, choosing to stay and practice in California instead.

"Elena Gilbert."

And then there was her. She'd lateralled from another big New York firm a few years back, and he'd successfully managed to avoid her. Until now. There was no doubt she was their best, but if the rumors were true, she had the biggest stick up her ass of all.

"Is there a problem?" Elijah asked, and if Damon wasn't mistaken he thought he saw a smirk flash across his boss's face. This was more than just a deal. This was a test. With a side of amusement.

"No, not at all," Damon covered, forcing a smile as he stood, gathering the file and his legal pad.

Nodding his approval, Elijah stood, adjusting his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. "Elena gets here in the morning. There's a kick-off call scheduled for 10AM Pacific. Review the term sheet and company information tonight. Diligence should start arriving tomorrow as well."

"I'm on it," Damon confirmed before turning to exit the office.

"Damon," Elijah called after him. "Knock this one out of the park and we'll be talking partnership come next March."

"I'll hold you to that," Damon replied, unable to suppress his own smirk.

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Mr. Salvatore," Elijah said, ushering him out of his office on his way to the elevators. Lunch meeting, Damon assumed, though it was hard to tell with Elijah. Suits were generally only worn for court or client meetings, but it seemed simple slacks and a button up offended Elijah's latent European sensibilities. Hell, he'd properly rather die of a heart attack than even contemplate wearing jeans on Fridays like the rest of them.

Taking a detour on the way back to his office, Damon slipped into Mason Lockwood's office, shutting the door behind him and collapsing in his guest chair with a huff. "I am so hosed, dude."

Mason had been a classmate of his at Stanford Law and started at Benton Pryce with him after graduation and the bar exam. But whereas Damon was gunning for partnership, Mason was just biding his time, saving up until he had enough money to open up a surf shop in Half Moon Bay. No way was Mason's father, the mayor of one of the towns on the Peninsula, going to fund that venture, but at least his disappointment would be tempered now that Mason's younger brother, Tyler, was a first year at one of the major law firms down in Palo Alto.

"Another deal?" Mason chuckled, slinging his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head.

"Yes, though I'm getting rid of two."

Mason shrugged. "Then I fail to see the problem."

"This new deal," Damon started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on Mason's desk, holding his head in his hands. "It's coming out of the NY office, and they're sending someone to tag team."

"Oh, I hope it's that Jules chick. She's hot."

"Other direction on the barometer, my friend," Damon grimaced.

"No!" Mason gasped, dropping his feet and tilting forward in his chair, running his hands though his curly hair and mimicking Damon's posture from the other side of his desk. "They're sending in the Ice Queen?"

"The one and only," Damon nodded. "Elena Gilbert arrives tomorrow morning."

"In that case, drinks are on me tonight, buddy," Mason offered with a punch to his shoulder. "You free?"

"Yeah," Damon said, standing and re-opening Mason's door. "But I'm not sure if there's enough alcohol in the world to make this situation any better."

"Good thing your best friend owns a bar," Mason laughed. "Ric's at 7?"

"That'll work," Damon replied, giving Mason's door a final rap with his knuckles before heading back down the hallway.

Closing his office door behind him, Damon slung the file and legal pad across his desk with more force than was warranted, sending papers fluttering over the far edge and onto the floor. He wearily walked behind his desk, picking them up and setting them on his file shelf before flopping down into his desk chair. Leaning forward, he banged his head on his desktop several times, idly wondering if there'd be a dent there by the end of the summer.

* * *

Elena Gilbert leaned against the window frame in her hotel room, staring up at the lighted Pyramid while sipping a glass of Pinot Noir. The irony of the moment was not lost on her. When she was twelve, her parents had come home from their usual Saturday morning yard sale outing with a dressing screen, something that had become necessary for the room she shared with her younger brother, Jeremy. The giant wood screen was painted black with the San Francisco skyline etched in gold flake, the Transamerica Pyramid featured most prominently. She had never thought she'd actually be working in that building one day, even if only for a couple of months.

Taking in the rest of the nighttime skyline, she noticed a smattering of lights on in the nearby office buildings, the twinkling lights on the suspension cords of the Bay Bridge, and the giant Ferry Building spire, backlit in orange for the hometown Giants. As much as she loved New York City's skyline at night, she had to admit that San Francisco's wasn't half bad either.

Walking over to the desk where she'd left the half empty bottle of wine, she poured herself another glass before picking up her iPad and taking a cursory glance at her email. All quiet, thanks to the late hour on the East Coast. Tapping on the web browser icon with her manicured nail, she pulled up her firm's website and clicked through to the attorney profile page for Damon Salvatore.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to his picture. There was no denying he was one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen – dark, disheveled hair, the ends of which curled slightly over his ears and fell carelessly across his forehead, an easy, confident smile and clear blue eyes the likes of which she'd never seen before. And he'd forgone the typical, conservative suit and tie in favor of a black dress shirt and black jacket, which only served to further accentuate the sharp contrasts of his features.

Reminding herself to focus on what really mattered, she scanned through his credentials – Berkeley undergrad, Stanford Law, Editor of the Stanford Law Review, and numerous other awards and accreditations. He was licensed in both California and New York, and his list of representative transactions was impressive. Not as long as hers, but all in all, he seemed qualified on paper to handle this transaction, and Elijah had told Tanner he was their best.

_He better be_, she thought.

She'd worked with other West Coast associates before, and while their work product was always good and delivered on time, they generally seemed to lack that sense of urgency that permeated the New York legal culture. That absence made her nervous. Staying on top of this deal and closing it without any major glitches would make her a lock for partnership next year. She wasn't about to let some too laid-back, albeit incredibly attractive, California lawyer ruin it for her.

Her eyes were straying back to Damon's picture when a stern knock on the door that connected her room to the next one caused her to jump.

Tossing the iPad on the bed, she walked across the room and called through the closed door. "Bonnie?"

"Yep, it's me, finally," came the gruff reply from the other side.

Smiling, Elena unlocked the door and opened it, revealing her very rumpled and clearly agitated best friend and paralegal. Bonnie's normally curly brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she was dressed casually in jeans and an NYU sweatshirt. And, not surprisingly, she was already sans shoes. Bonnie regarded footwear of any sorts as the worst form of torture, often padding around her office barefoot.

"There better be some of that left over for me," she said, eyeing the wine glass in Elena's hand.

"Help yourself," Elena said, nodding her head toward the desk where she'd left the wine bottle. "I think there are extra glasses next to the minibar in the cabinet underneath the TV."

Tucking a leg under her and sitting down on the edge of the bed, Elena watched as Bonnie bee-lined for the extra glass and poured a generous helping, finishing off the bottle. "That good of a flight, huh?"

"I, the atheist and former Wiccan, might have said a few prayers," Bonnie muttered before collapsing in the desk chair and taking a long swallow of wine. "And you could have fucking warned me about the overwater landing with another plane on our wing. I was freaking out until the girl beside me explained that SFO has parallel runways."

Elena shrugged her shoulders meekly. "Forgive me?"

Smiling and waving a hand dismissively in her direction, Bonnie took another big gulp of wine and put her bare feet up on the desk. "Good wine" she said, leaning back and taking a deep relaxing breath.

"Perks of doing business in California," Elena winked, tilting her glass toward Bonnie in a mock toast and taking another swallow.

"That one of the other perks?" Bonnie asked, pointing to the shopping bags littering the bed behind Elena.

"No," Elena huffed, rolling her eyes. "That's a result of my mistaken belief that July was a summer month. No one bothered to inform me that July in San Francisco might as well be February or March anywhere else. I had to go and buy a whole new wardrobe this afternoon."

"You could have taken five minutes to look up the weather before you left?"

"Stop being logical, Bonnie Bennett," Elena grumbled. According to the perky blonde personal shopper at Nordstrom's, she'd made a very common mistake for first time visitors. Apparently a thick fog settled over the city from June to August, making the summer months the coolest time of year here. At least now she had her fall wardrobe for when cooler weather arrived in New York later in the year.

"Isn't that what you keep me around for?" Bonnie laughed, before her face took on a more serious expression. "Jeremy says 'hi.' Your parents do too."

She'd introduced Bonnie and Jeremy three years ago, during Jeremy's tour of graduate art programs. When he'd started at NYU's Institute of Fine Arts the following fall, he and Bonnie had reconnected and were now living together.

"I'm really sorry to have pulled you away early from your vacation with them," Elena deflected. Her family had made their annual Fourth of July pilgrimage down to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and Bonnie had gone with them this year. She was supposed to have spent an extra week with them at home in Virginia, but Elena had called her back early for support on the Shaw deal. Bonnie was the best paralegal in their office, and she wasn't about to trust this deal or her future to anyone else.

"You could have been there with us too," Bonnie countered, shooting her a judgmental glare over the top of her wine glass. "Elena, don't you think it's a little odd that I see your family more than you do?"

"Bonnie, you know I had to work. I'm this close to making partner," Elena said, holding up her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. "I have to clock as many billable hours as possible this year and close this Shaw deal. Then, when I make partner, I'll be better about visiting, I promise."

Shaking her head, Bonnie gave her a doubtful look. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Elena. I've seen how hard the junior partners in our office work. You're going to run yourself into the ground if you keep going at this pace."

"I'm fine, Bonnie," Elena bit back, and then inwardly cringed at the venomous tone of her voice. "God, Bon, I'm sorry," she whispered, hanging her head and letting the now empty wine glass dangle between her fingers.

"Hey," Bonnie replied softly, rising from the chair and coming to sit next to her. She threw an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. "No harm, no foul. We're both just tired and grouchy."

Letting her head rest lightly on her best friend's shoulder, Elena chuckled. "That's an understatement."

After a few minutes, Bonnie removed her arm and turned toward the bags behind them. "So, you wanna show me your new - Woah, who is that?" she asked, picking up the iPad that had been lying on the bed.

"That" Elena said, cocking an eyebrow and tapping her nail against the screen, "Is Damon Salvatore. He's the other M&A associate assigned to this deal."

"Well, well, well," Bonnie smirked. "San Francisco is just full of beautiful scenery."

Elena squealed in mock outrage, jostling her shoulder. "Bonnie! You're dating my brother."

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good looking man," she winked before casting her a mischievous glance. "And besides, I'm just scouting on behalf of a certain single, brown-eyed, brunette girl in her early thirties who happens to be my best friend."

"Don't even think about it," Elena warned. Standing, she took the empty wine glass from Bonnie's hand and placed it back on the desk with hers.

"All work and no play makes Elena a very dull girl," Bonnie reproached amusedly, shaking a pointed finger at her as she rose from the bed and headed back to her room.

"I'll meet you downstairs at seven for breakfast and then we'll head over?"

"Sounds like a plan," Bonnie replied from the doorway. "Sweet Damon-filled dreams," she teased and then slammed the door shut behind her.

Elena could still hear her friend giggling on the other side of the door, and she found it hard to hold back the grin on her own face as she moved around the room getting ready for bed. After giving the Pyramid that awaited her one last look, she closed the curtains, switched off the remaining lights and crawled into bed. Taking another peek at her email and confirming nothing new had come in, she lingered for a moment on the image of Damon Salvatore before closing the web browser and shutting off her iPad for the night.

_Focus, Gilbert_, she scolded herself. _Eyes on the prize._

And by prize, she meant partnership. Elena was so close she could taste it. She just had to survive the next two months and get this deal closed. Everything she'd been working for over the past eight years – fifteen if you counted undergrad and law school – everything she wanted, was within her grasp. And there was no way she was going to let anyone, Damon Salvatore included, screw this up for her.

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_**Reviews, favorites and alerts are most welcome and an important, valued indicator of your interest in this new story! **_

_Also, for a more interactive experience, check out my twitter feed - laylareyne - for story updates and pictures of some of the Bay Area places referenced in this story ;)_


	2. Let's Do This

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: **First, a HUGE THANK YOU for the warm reception you've given this story and Four Tragedies. Every single favorite, alert and review makes me smile! Second, my apologies for the slight delay in getting this chapter posted. Truth be told, TVD 4X19 scared the muse away for a few days and then FFN wouldn't cooperate. Finally, my undying gratitude to Sandra (dutchtreat) for her continued support and beta skills and to Chelley (chellethebelle) for her pre-reading/sanity checks.

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 2 – Let's Do This**_

Watching the red digital numbers tick up as the elevator climbed, Damon bobbed his head to the final chords of The Allman Brother's _Whipping Post_. It was one of his favorite 'get-up-and-go' songs. At just over twenty-two minutes, the live Fillmore version he'd downloaded on his iPhone was the perfect length for his morning BART commute from the Mission into Downtown Financial, with two minutes to spare for a coffee pit stop at Peet's.

As the elevator slowed to a stop and the song came to an end, Damon hooked a finger into the cord for his earphones, pulling them out and letting them fall into his collar. Stepping onto the floor with two lattes in hand, he rounded the corner of the hallway to his office and nearly collided with a very frazzled looking Liz Forbes.

When it came to the Russian roulette of secretarial assignments, Damon had gotten supremely lucky. Liz was a dying breed – a real, professional, legal secretary – who'd been at Benton Pryce for thirty years. Neither the job nor the firm were merely a weigh station on the path to a different career for her. Liz had wanted and trained to be a legal secretary, and she was damn good at her job. She also knew more about the firm, officially and unofficially, than anybody else. Damon doubted he would have survived his first year of practice without her.

Not to mention the fact that Liz was practically family. After introducing him to her daughter at a firm function five years ago, Damon had taken Caroline on a few forgettable dates before he'd bailed on her one night, sending his brother Stefan in his stead. It had been rainbows and unicorns for the two of them ever since. With their wedding at the end of the summer, Liz and his own mother were thick as thieves now.

And whether it was work or wedding planning, he'd never seen Liz break a sweat. She was the very model of calm, cool and collected. But observing her now – her arms piled high with files and supplies, her eyes tired and mouth grimly set, still in her commute sneakers with her sunglasses on top of her head – Liz was clearly out of sorts.

"Oh, thank god," she sighed, seeing the coffee cups. "That better not be decaf."

"It's nine-thirty in the morning, Liz. Why the hell would it be decaf?" Damon deadpanned before flashing her a teasing grin. "Trade?" he offered, holding the cups out to her and eyeing the bundle of items in her arms.

Cracking a tiny smile and nodding her acceptance, she set the files and supplies across his outstretched arms and took the two coffee cups from his hands. "Thank you."

"No problem. So, where were you going with all of this?" Damon asked, glancing down again at the mound of supplies as they walked toward his office. He certainly didn't need them, having just raided the supply room himself a few days ago.

"Rob's old office," Liz answered, taking a sip of her latte. "_Miss Gilbert_ decided she needed more space."

The presumption of an associate, even one as good as Elena Gilbert, to settle into a partner's corner office, combined with the venom in Liz's usually affable voice, had Damon raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought she was supposed to be in the empty associate's office next to mine."

Stepping into his office, Liz used her hip to shut the door behind them. "Her paralegal is using that one," Liz informed him, tilting her head toward the adjacent office.

"_Excuse me? Her paralegal?_" Damon hissed, keeping his voice low so as not to be heard through the paper-thin walls. He set the files and supplies down on the corner of his desk, and then lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head, dropping it to the floor. "Elijah didn't say anything about her bringing a paralegal."

"Which is the reason I'm running around like a crazy person," Liz replied, taking his coat from him and hanging it on the hook behind the door. "Apparently they've been here since eight this morning. Dana said Elena was livid when she heard that no one showed up until eight-thirty, and she's been on the warpath ever since."

Damon rolled his eyes as he dropped his earphones and iPhone on his desk and took another swallow of his coffee. So everything he'd heard about Elena Gilbert was turning out to be true. By the sound of it, she'd come barging in with her New York attitude, complaining, making demands and alienating the staff in less than an hour. _Strike one. _Well, he'd just have to _educate_ her on the way things worked in _this_ office.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. You're going to go back to your desk, finish your coffee, and take a minute to switch out of your sneakers and sunglasses."

"Shit," Liz cursed, looking down at her feet while reaching up with her free hand to snatch the sunglasses off of her head. "I didn't even realize …"

"Don't worry. I doubt she did either," Damon reassured her. "I'm going to go have a little chat with _Miss Gilbert_."

"Damon - "

"Nuh-uh. I got this," he told her, pitching his empty cup in the trashcan and picking up the files and supplies.

"Just play nice," Liz warned, as she opened his door. "We have to live with her for the foreseeable future."

"When have I ever not played nice?" Damon replied with mock indignation, to which Liz raised an eyebrow, shooting him a knowing look. "On second thought, don't answer that," he smirked, and Liz's answering laugh was music to his ears.

_Mission accomplished_, he thought. _Now, on to the real problem._

Squaring his shoulders, Damon marched down the hallway to the corner office, his irritation building with each step. By the time he knocked on the slightly ajar door, he was so angry that he didn't bother waiting for a response before barging in.

The tirade he was ready to unleash on Elena died instantly when he saw her sitting on the couch. With Elijah. Having tea. Damon didn't know whether to be disgusted or impressed. On the one hand, she'd been smart enough to know whose ass to kiss the second she'd walked through the door; but on the other, did she have to be so fucking transparent about it. _Tea, really?_ And if Elijah's relaxed posture and easy laughter were any indication, she'd hit the bullseye.

Elena's head snapped up, her gaze meeting his over Elijah's shoulder. Her dark brown eyes grew wide and flickered with something he couldn't identify. But then she narrowed them and that flash of something unknown vanished, replaced with an unspoken challenge.

_Go ahead, say something_, her eyes dared him.

"Ah, Damon," Elijah spoke up, interrupting their stare down, beckoning him closer and gesturing to the woman beside him. "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Gilbert before."

"No, I haven't," Damon answered, entering the office further and dropping the files and supplies on Elena's desk before extending his hand to her. "Damon Salvatore."

While they were politely shaking hands, sizing each other up, Elijah filled Damon in. "Elena was just giving me some background on Shaw. I told her you were up to speed on Lundell."

"I am," he nodded, leaning back against the desk, facing them with his arms folded over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles.

"Well," Elena started, setting her now empty cup of tea on the table in front of the couch and checking her watch, "Seeing as it's almost ten, we'll have to trade notes after the call."

"If I'd known there was a pre-meeting, I would have come in earlier."

"I thought that would have been obvious," she replied in an imperious tone. "Given that the client is based on the east coast."

_So much for impressed. _Sure, part of him knew she was right, that he probably should have made the effort to arrive earlier this morning, but throwing a fellow associate under the bus like that, in front of a partner, may be how they did things in New York, but not here. _Strike two. _Clenching his jaw and digging his fingers into his biceps, Damon fought to keep his voice neutral. "Noted," was all he trusted himself to say while Elijah was still in the room.

Thankfully, though, it appeared Elijah was on his way out, as he also placed his cup on the table and stood. "Alright then," he said, buttoning his suit coat and straightening his tie in his usual manner. "I'll leave you to it. Thank you for the tea, Elena. And please do make yourself at home here."

"I will, thank you," she replied amiably, all traces of her previous haughtiness gone as she stood and walked with Elijah to the door. _Talk about flipping a switch._

Elijah shot him a parting glance, silently confirming they'd discuss this later, before he turned and left. Elena closed the door behind him, leaving her hand on the doorknob and her back to him for a few extra seconds.

"Look, Damon, I know it'll be an adjustment," she started, turning toward him.

He practically launched himself off the desk, the last of his civility flying out the door with Elijah. Coming to stand directly in front of her, he leveled her with an angry glare. "Oh, I can manage that. Not a problem. But you," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "Also need to make some adjustments."

"How's that?" she snapped hotly, taking a step toward him, her determined eyes locked with his.

"I don't know how they do things in New York, but in _this office_, we do not bark orders at the staff like they are the hired help." That got her attention, and she had the decency to cast her eyes downward, looking properly chastised by his admonishment. But he wasn't done yet. "And two, I am not some junior associate you can boss around. If you ever throw me under the bus like that again, Elena …" he threatened.

"You'll do what, Damon?" she countered, her eyes shooting back up to his as she took another step forward, their bodies less than an inch apart.

He wished he had a comeback for her, but at that precise moment, distraction of another sort overtook his senses. Standing this close to her, he could smell her perfume, could feel the heat of her body, could hear the hitch in her breath when his gaze drifted from her brown doe eyes down to her rosy parted lips.

It was as if his body had just woken up and noticed the _very_ attractive woman standing indecently close to him. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling at it nervously, and his fingers twitched painfully at his side, the desire to pry her lip free and soothe it with his thumb damn near impossible to resist. Despite what he might think of her professional tactics, there was no denying that Elena Gilbert was stunningly beautiful.

"Whoa," came an unfamiliar voice from somewhere off to his right. Startled, Elena quickly stepped away from him, letting her long brown hair hide her face, but not before he caught a matching glimpse of desire in her eyes and an unmistakable blush creeping up her neck and reddening her cheeks. "I can come back in a few," said the petite young lady with light brown skin, green eyes and curly brown hair standing in the doorway. _When did that happen? _He hadn't even heard the door reopen, but then again, his attention had been focused elsewhere.

Elena took a deep breath, adjusting her sweater and checking her watch again, before turning back around to face them. "No, it's fine, Bonnie. It's time for our call. Damon," she said, looking anywhere but directly at him as she moved behind the desk, "This is my paralegal, Bonnie Bennett."

"_Our_ paralegal, Elena," he corrected, bracing his arms on the edge of her desk and leaning forward, forcing her to meet his eyes._ "_Just like this is _our_ deal." Damon held her gaze steadily, emphasizing his point. After a few seconds, he blinked, breaking their eye contact, and turned to Bonnie with an outstretched hand. "Damon Salvatore. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Hmm. Handsome _and_ charming," Bonnie replied with a mischievous smirk, shaking his hand before they both lowered themselves into the guest chairs across the desk from Elena. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but somehow even that web page picture doesn't do you justice."

"Bonnie," Elena snapped, her eyes widening with embarrassment.

"Oh, so someone's been checking out my profile page, have they?" Damon smirked, waggling his eyebrows at Elena as he reached for a couple of legal pads on her desk. Handing one to Bonnie and keeping the other for himself, he leaned back in his chair and flashed the paralegal a conspiratorial grin. "Now you, I might like, but I'm not so sure about her," he said, motioning with his thumb toward Elena.

"_Her_ is sitting right here!" Elena exclaimed, sounding positively offended.

_Good god, did the woman not even know how to take a joke?_

"Why don't we all just agree to give each other a chance?" Bonnie offered, looking back and forth between him and Elena. "Otherwise it's going to be a very long two months."

"You don't have to worry about me," Damon shrugged nonchalantly, twirling a pen between his fingers.

Bonnie gave Elena a stern look that left no room for argument, one that he'd been on the receiving end of plenty of times before from his own best friend. Damon figured that these two had to be more than just work colleagues, given how easily she'd just called Elena's bluff. There was clearly more to the story here. He'd have to get Liz on that right away.

"Fine," Elena huffed, snatching supplies for herself. "Do you have the call-in number?"

"Right here," Bonnie answered, handing Elena a printout of the calendar invite for the conference call. As Elena dialed-in, Bonnie turned back to him, smiling pleasantly. "We look forward to working with you, Damon."

"Thank you," Damon replied with a wink before glancing across the desk at Elena, locking his eyes with hers. "Let's do this."

* * *

"We're not open for another hour!"

"I don't care!" Damon shouted back, collapsing onto a bar stool and cradling his head in his folded arms on top of the bar, listening to the clang of pots and pans echoing from the back of the pub. After a few minutes, he heard the click-clack of high heels approaching, and he covered his ears with his hands, preparing for the inevitable verbal assault.

"And what makes you so goddamn special? You think you can just waltz in here like you own the place? I've got dinner to prep for, Damon."

With that out of the way, he removed his hands from his ears, steepling them beneath his chin. "You know as well as I do that I own ten percent of this place. Same as you, my dear, sweet, future sister-in-law," he drawled sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at the blonde. "And _my_ best friend owns the rest, so yeah, that makes me fucking special."

It was at times like these that he seriously wondered what ever possessed him to go into business with Caroline Forbes, even if it bought him a reserved barstool at one of the hottest gastropubs in town.

He'd introduced his best friend, Ric, a whiskey-phile who'd just come into a hefty inheritance, and Caroline, then a sous-chef at a well-regarded restaurant in the City, several years ago at one of Stefan's birthday parties. Nine months later, they'd opened Whiskey Grille, and for his gratis legal work on the project and a small monetary investment, they'd made Damon a part owner as well.

But Caroline didn't like to dwell on that fact, especially when presented with an opportunity to bust his balls like she was doing right now. She huffed, leaning back against the counter with her hands on her hips, giving him her best put-upon glare. But whereas he wasn't sure how to read Elena Gilbert just yet, he knew Caroline's act like the back of his hand. And he knew exactly how to crack this particular nut.

"Alright, listen, I'll make you a deal. If you'll get on that ladder there," he proposed, nodding to the wooden library-style ladder that wheeled in front of the staggered shelves of alcohol, "And grab my bottle of bourbon from the top shelf, I'll convince Stefan to wear a tux with tails for the wedding."

"Seriously?" the blonde perked up, her attitude doing a complete one-eighty in a matter of seconds. He'd probably have suffered whiplash if he weren't so used to it already. "How are you going to do that?"

"Don't ask questions that you don't want the answers to, Barbie," he smirked, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Now, how about that drink …"

Rolling her eyes and wheeling the ladder over to the bourbon section, Damon watched as she climbed to the very top shelf, shuffling a few bottles around until she found his bottle of twenty year old Pappy Van Winkle tucked in the back, hidden from the prying eyes of less worthy patrons.

"I'm going to need something to eat with that, too," he added with a wink, as she put the bottle and a Glencairn glass on the bar in front of him.

"Asking a bit much there, my not-so-dear and certainly not sweet, future brother-in-law," she countered, folding her arms across her chest as he poured himself two fingers worth. Ignoring her for the moment, he closed his eyes and took a long draught of the bourbon, savoring its sweet and spicy oak-tinged finish as it burned a path across his tongue and down the back of his throat.

"We're not open for another hour!" came another shout, this time from the stock room doorway where a tall, sandy-haired man dressed in jeans and a worn t-shirt was wheeling out a hand truck full of liquor boxes.

"This one thinks he's special," Caroline grumbled. "And he wants me to make him food."

"You _are_ the best chef in the City," Damon praised before taking another swig of his drink, hoping a change in his approach could charm a meal out of her. It was already three in the afternoon, and he hadn't had anything but a granola bar to eat all day. Every decent place in Financial would be closed for at least the next hour, and he had to be back at the office in thirty, so Care really was his last resort. And though it pained him to admit it sometimes, she was an extremely talented chef, her cooking second only to his mother's.

"Please," Damon pouted, not above groveling now that his empty stomach was loudly protesting the bourbon he had no intention of discarding.

"Pathetic," his best friend muttered under his breath, as Caroline held up the bar flip so he could wheel the boxes behind the bar.

Throwing her arms up with an exasperated "Fine", she stomped back to the kitchen, and a minute later, Damon smiled at the sound and smell of meat sizzling on the grill.

"You might as well make yourself useful while you wait," Ric suggested, as he lifted boxes from the cart up onto the counter.

"Sure, I'd be happy to taste test," Damon replied, poking around in the boxes to see what assortment of spirits Ric had pulled out of the stock room.

Rolling his eyes and swatting his hand away, Ric eyed him expectantly over the box. "What I meant was for you to get your ass back here and help me stock this shit."

"Well, why didn't you say so," Damon smirked, knowing full well that that's exactly what Ric had intended but, given the day he'd had so far, he couldn't pass up the chance to hassle his best friend a little. It was his favorite pastime after all. Draining the rest of his bourbon, Damon capped the bottle, pushed it aside with his empty glass, and then boosted himself up and over the lacquered wood bar.

"You know we have a bar flip for that, right?" Ric griped.

"Where's the fun in that?" Damon shrugged, waggling his eyebrows and holding up his hands for a bottle toss. Catching it in midair, Damon gave the bottle's label a quick look and then wheeled the ladder over to the Tequila section. As he climbed to the correct shelf for the 1942 Don Julio, he couldn't help but smile, remembering how he'd helped Ric and Caroline acquire and design this place. Each element was hand-picked – the antique filament lighting, the reclaimed-wood tables, the dark oak hardwood floors, and the actual hand-carved wooden bar – but the library style liquor shelves and rolling ladder were by far his favorite touch.

One evening, before the gastropub had first opened, he and Ric had spent hours debating which bottles of alcohol deserved top shelf placement and the descending order for all the rest. By the end of that night – many, many taste tests later – they'd both passed out drunk, him laid out on top of the bar and Ric awkwardly slumped in one of the booths. Caroline's outburst when she'd found them there the next morning was definitely one of her greatest hits.

"So, fun times with the new associate, I take it, seeing as you're here day drinking," his best friend correctly guessed, interrupting his stroll down memory lane and handing him another bottle.

"She's a nightmare, Ric," Damon ranted, as he reached out to set the bottle of Matusalem on the Rum shelf. "She's disrespectful to the staff, she threw me under the bus in front of Elijah, she wouldn't let me get a word in edge-wise on the call with opposing counsel today, who, get this …," he said, pausing for effect and leaning back on the ladder, "just happens to be one of my exes."

"Which one?" Ric asked, handing him a bottle of Macallan 18 and pushing him and the ladder over to the high-end Scotch shelves.

"Lexi," Damon grimaced. His law school flame had spectacularly exploded on him during the two months between graduation and the bar exam. Not an uncommon occurrence but messy nonetheless. "Apparently, she took an in-house job with our target company three months ago. Just my fucking luck."

"You're screwed," Ric chuckled, shaking his head. "Grab the Johnny Walker Blue while you're up there. This calls for a double-shot."

"Oh, and it gets even worse," Damon continued, as he snagged the square bottle of blended Scotch and climbed down the ladder.

After handing the bottle off, Damon ambled back around to the front of the bar, sitting on his stool again, while Ric pulled out two tumblers and poured them each a double-shot.

"How can it possibly get worse?" Ric asked, sliding the glass across the bar to him.

"She's hot as hell," he groaned, throwing back the Scotch in one gulp before propping his elbows on the bar and hanging his head in his hands.

"Who's hot?" Caroline piped up, as she served him a burger, fixed just the way he liked it, and a steaming crock of mac and cheese. He had to give it to the blonde; she had his number just as well as he had hers.

"That new attorney, the one from New York," Ric answered for him, noticing that his mouth was currently stuffed with mac and cheese. "You know, you weren't so nice when you first moved out here either, Damon."

"He's still not," Caroline teased, punching him in the arm. "And as for _Elena_, I heard about her from my mom when she called earlier. Sounds like a real bitch," she sneered, reverting to her gossip-girl voice as she began cranking up the espresso machine behind the bar.

Nodding his head and rubbing his arm, Damon swallowed a bite of hamburger. "That'd be an accurate assessment."

"Mom said her paralegal is nice, though," Caroline added, bending down to pull the milk out of the under-bar fridge and then pouring it into a frothing carafe.

"Yeah, Bonnie seems perfectly normal. Though I did ask your mom to find out what the scoop was between those two."

"Nosy much?" Ric interjected, throwing a bar towel at him.

"Hey, I have to deal with them for the rest of the summer," Damon shrugged, finishing off his burger and wiping his hands clean on the towel. "I need all the intel I can get."

"They're best friends, and Bonnie is practically engaged to Elena's younger brother," Caroline informed them, obviously proud of herself for knowing something before they did.

"How does your mom work so damn fast? She should have been a detective or something," Damon mused.

Filling four to-go cups with espresso and steamed milk, she answered in an accented voice. "She is a Master of Whisperers."

"I see somebody's been marathon watching Game of Thrones again," Damon grinned. "Winter is coming …"

"Don't encourage her," Ric groused, climbing the ladder himself to return the JWB to its shelf. "She's been spouting that shit for days. I'm going to kill Stefan for buying her those damn discs the next time I see him."

Laughing, Caroline placed the four lattes in a carrying tray on the bar in front of Damon, who furrowed his brow and asked, "Who are those for?"

"One for you, one for my mom and two for the newbies. A peace-offering," she suggested brightly, dropping a small bag of macaroons in between the cups. "Make sure Mom gets a few of those as well," she added, nodding at the cookies.

"You really think this will work?"

"You said it yourself, Damon," Ric chimed in, leveling him with that same stern look that Bonnie had used on Elena earlier in the day. "You have to deal with them for the next couple of months. You need to make this work."

"Who're you now? Obi-Wan-Saltzman or something?" Damon smirked, throwing the bar towel back at Ric before picking up the coffee tray and heading toward the exit.

"Dick," Ric shouted after him.

"I know," Damon laughed, flaring his eyes wide at him.

"But don't be to them," Caroline warned, pointing a manicured finger at him.

"Yes, Mom," he hollered back, ducking out the door just in time to miss the orange she threw at him.

Smiling on his walk back to the office, Damon said a silent thank you for his friends and his full belly. And he thought to himself that if he, Ric and Caroline could get along well enough to run a business together, then surely he could make it work with Elena Gilbert. Glancing down at the cups of coffee and macaroons in his hands, he hoped this peace offering would do the trick, because if it didn't, he was looking at a very long two months in hell.

* * *

_**In case you're wondering, yes, we'll get Elena's POV back in the next chapter ;) Damon just had a lot to say, and I couldn't help myself with that pub scene. Too much fun! Hit review below and let me know if you enjoyed it, too. Thanks.**_


	3. Strike Three

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: **I really can't thank you all enough for the love you've shown this story. Each review, favorite and alert is so very much appreciated! Thanks as well to Sandra (dutchtreat) for her top-notch beta work and to Chelley (chellethebelle) for kicking my muse back into gear. I'm dedicating this chapter to a certain raven-haired, blue-eyed rocker she's been writing lately that I really can't wait for you all to meet ;) In the meantime, be sure to check out her current story, _To Save a Sinner_, which is also all kinds of fabulous.

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 3 – Strike Three**_

"Is he in there?" Elena whispered, tilting her head toward Damon's office as she quietly slipped into her paralegal's temporary workspace, easing the door shut behind her.

Shaking her head, Bonnie capped the highlighter she was using and leaned back in her chair. "He blew out of here in a rage thirty minutes ago. Cursing, slamming doors, muttering something about 'strike three.' It was all very dramatic. What happened?"

Collapsing into the chair across from Bonnie, Elena ran her hands through her hair, grabbing and pulling two fistfuls near her scalp. "I fucked up, Bon," she confessed. "Big time."

_Forty-eight hours_, she thought. That's exactly how long their détente had lasted before she'd started the war again.

She'd been surprised that first afternoon when Damon had returned to the office with a tray of lattes and macaroons. And thank god for that, because if she'd had to drink another cup of tea or the swill that barely passed as coffee in the break room, she would have detonated on someone for sure.

After calling her, Bonnie and Liz into the small conference room next to his office, Damon had handed each of them a cup. "A peace offering," he'd said with a small smile, setting aside the tension – work-related and not – that had bubbled up between them earlier in the day. And then, as if they'd been working together for years, he'd proceeded to lay out a game plan for tackling the deal.

"_Our_ deal." His words from their first meeting echoed back to her, as did the image of him leaning across her desk and snaring her with his clear blue eyes. Bonnie had been right. While Damon Salvatore's profile picture was nothing to scoff at, he was infinitely more striking in-person. His inky black hair was tinged with lighter brown streaks, kissed by a sun she still had yet to see here, and her fingers had itched to brush back the tousled strands that had fallen across his forehead. And his smile – _correction_, his smirk – was sexier than it had any right to be. But no feature was more captivating than his eyes. They'd stared back at her confidently, invitingly from her iPad screen. But having actually gazed into them, first over Elijah's shoulder, then nose to nose with him, and finally from across her desk, she'd realized that the virtual eyes lacked the fire, the mischief and the challenge that the real ones seemed to pulse with. And their color was truly unlike anything she'd ever seen, especially the darker shade they'd taken on when he'd let them drift from her eyes down to her lips, right before Bonnie had interrupted them.

She'd found herself admiring him again while she'd sipped her latte and he'd written their to-do lists on the whiteboard during that first planning session. He'd suggested that she should stick to drafting the Purchase Agreement and other deal documents while he managed the diligence teams. These were "his people," he'd said. She also understood what he hadn't said. That she'd just piss them off. That he didn't trust her to treat them with the respect they deserved.

The implication had stung, but, admittedly, the way she'd acted that first morning hadn't given him any reason to think otherwise. And it had worried her. Damon was a professional colleague, another potential partner at Benton Pryce, and the sort of reputation she was building was not going to help her advance in the firm. It wasn't only the New York office that had to approve her for partnership. And if the departing glance Damon had shared with Elijah earlier had told her anything, it was that he still had the Partner-in-Charge's ear, no matter how many cups of tea she shared with him.

So she'd resolved to prove Damon wrong, pleasantly greeting each team that came by their conference-room-turned-diligence-war-room. It had felt like a never ending stream of people – labor associates to review the SOPs and employee benefit plans, IP attorneys ready to examine Lundell's various trademarks and patents, a sole real estate of-counsel tasked with assessing the company's real estate holdings and so on and so forth – and Damon had remained upbeat, encouraging and clear in his directives with each specialist. The consummate quarterback.

He'd taken a time-out though, noticeably relaxing, when another man with light eyes and dark curly hair had entered the room. "Mason Lockwood," Liz had whispered in her ear, before going on to explain that he was another M&A associate and a close personal friend of Damon's. With that bit of information, Elena had put forth her very best effort when Damon had formally introduced them, earning her a warm smile and a "Good job" from the blond assistant afterward.

All that work, all that effort was for naught though, because she'd gone and blown it all to hell.

Having told Damon she'd need until Sunday to complete a draft of the Purchase Agreement, he'd told his diligence teams to finish their issues list by the end of the day on Friday. He'd review their notes over the weekend, let her know what additional provisions needed to be added, and then they'd send out their draft first thing on Monday morning. Only, she hadn't stuck to the plan.

"What'd you do?" Bonnie asked, bringing her back to the present and out of the shame spiral she'd been in for the last half hour.

"I may have accidentally thrown him under the bus," Elena answered, covering her face with her hands. "Again."

"How do you _accidentally_ do that?"

Leaning forward and propping her elbows on the edge of the desk, Elena hung her head in her hands and closed her eyes. "We were on the all-hands conference call, and Lexi asked when we'd have a draft of the Purchase Agreement ready."

"And you told her Monday, right?"

"Not exactly," Elena mumbled.

"What _exactly_ did you say?" Elena didn't need to look up to know that her best friend's eyes were at their judgmental best. And rightfully so.

"I told her that the Purchase Agreement was done, but that I was waiting on Damon to catch-up."

Elena's head jerked up suddenly as Bonnie reached across the desk, yanking her hands away from her face and forcing her to meet her disappointed green eyes. "Did you actually say 'catch up'?"

"I didn't mean to go there, Bonnie. It just came out. Like instinct or something."

"That's a terrible instinct to have, Elena. You know that, right?"

Withdrawing her hands from Bonnie's, she scrubbed them across her face in frustration. "I know, I know. It's just that I've had to fight tooth and nail for everything for so long that I automatically jump at any chance to get ahead. And you have to be that way in New York to survive. You know that."

"But we're not in New York anymore, and things are different here."

Bonnie was right, of course. Sure, the legal profession was dog-eat-dog no matter where you practiced, but there had to be a line where professionalism and civility trumped self-interest. And yet again, just like her first morning in the San Francisco office, she'd lost sight of the fact that the line was in a difference place here, and she'd bulldozed right over it.

Elena looked back up at her best friend pleadingly. "How do I fix this?"

"First, you apologize to Damon."

Elena's stomach fell to the floor. She knew it was the first step in cleaning up the mess that she'd made, but the look of betrayal that had flashed in his eyes when they'd been on that call was still seared into her brain. She'd be surprised if Damon would listen to a single word she had to say ever again, much less accept an apology.

"But give him a few hours to cool off." She watched Bonnie spin in her chair, reaching behind her and grabbing a yellow piece of paper before pushing it across the desk to her. "There's a firm event tonight at some pub. You can talk to him there."

"I don't know, Bonnie," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe I should just go back to the hotel tonight and apologize tomorrow."

Bonnie grasped her hands again, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be fine, Elena. Things are less likely to blow up in a public place. And I'll be there as back-up."

"You're going?"

"Read, Elena," Bonnie smirked, pointing down again at the flyer and pushing it closer to her.

"It's a whiskey tasting," Elena smiled. Looking back up, she met her best friend's mischief-filled eyes. "I'm going to be carrying you back to the hotel tonight, aren't I?"

"That's a distinct possibility," Bonnie grinned back at her. "We'll head over around six."

"I think you might be overestimating the power of whiskey, Bon," Elena sighed, standing and turning to leave.

"_Never_ underestimate the power of whiskey, my friend," Bonnie winked, before turning back to the papers on her desk and uncapping her highlighter again. Pulling the door shut behind her, Elena held her head down as she passed Liz's cubicle on the way to her office, not wanting to see the disappointment that was surely in the assistant's eyes after this afternoon. She didn't want to see it in Damon's either. Elena knew it was going to take more than just an apology to fix this, but Bonnie was right. She had to start somewhere. She just hoped like hell that Damon was willing to listen.

* * *

It was closer to seven by the time they finally left the office, and when they arrived at the pub, the festivities were already in full swing. Standing in the restaurant's entryway, Elena admired its warm, comfortable feel. It was lively, yet cozy, modern, yet with an eye to the antique, and she could tell that careful thought had gone into creating the overall aesthetic of the place.

"Let's go!" Bonnie shouted at her over the noise, grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her toward the bar where two spots had just opened up. As she climbed onto a stool, Elena eyes took in the expansive selection of liquors on the shelves behind the bar.

"See anything you like?"

Elena's attention snapped to the scruffy-looking bartender who was making his way down to their end of the bar. By the slouch of his shoulders, she could tell he was tired, no doubt overworked given the packed bar, but his smile was genuine, immediately putting her at ease.

"We're here for the whiskey tasting," Bonnie answered for her.

"You two are with Benton Pryce? I haven't seen you around here before."

"We're in from the New York office," her best friend replied, leaning forward and extending a hand across the bar. "I'm Bonnie."

"Ric," the man behind the bar introduced himself, shaking Bonnie's hand before turning toward her. "And you must be Elena."

"I'm afraid of what reputation precedes us," she replied, smiling shyly as she shook his hand.

"Well, if it isn't the terrible twosome," came a familiar voice from beside them as Mason sidled up to the bar next to Bonnie.

"You're one to talk," Ric grumbled, tossing his bar rag at Mason. "You were supposed to help me tend bar tonight, but all you've done is help _yourself_ to the bar."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Mason waved a hand dismissively at him before ducking under the bar flip and slinging the bar towel over his shoulder. "So, what'll it be?" he asked, setting several shot glasses on the bar in front of them.

"Irish," Bonnie said, eagerly drumming her hands against the bar. Rolling the ladder over, Ric climbed about halfway up to pull out a few bottles of Irish whiskey and then tossed them to Mason.

"And how about you, Elena?" Ric asked, stepping off the ladder as Mason poured several shots for Bonnie and a double shot of Jameson for himself

Giving the selection another once over, Elena was just about to echo Bonnie's request when she spotted a familiar label on the top shelf, barely visible from behind the other bottles of bourbon placed in front of it. "Anything?" she queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Anything," Ric nodded.

Smirking, she held up a single shot glass. "In that case, Pappy twenty."

A broad smile broke out on Ric's face, which Elena chalked up to the usual surprise of a female ordering such expensive aged bourbon. God forbid she order something that wasn't pink and sweet. Though usually the look she got from bartenders was more the 'are you serious?' variety. Ric just seemed genuinely amused.

Elena smiled back, shrugging her shoulders. "You said anything."

"That I did," he laughed, shaking his head as he turned to climb the ladder again. He was halfway back down when a shout rang out from behind her.

"What do you think you're doing, Ric?!"

Whipping around on her stool, Elena searched for the voice's owner, her eyes widening when they locked onto a pair of cold blue ones. Standing next to one of the high-top pub tables across the restaurant, Damon had a pint glass of what appeared to be Guinness in one hand and his other arm was slung across the shoulders of a beautiful blonde.

"Just giving the lady what she asked for," she heard Ric yell back, but her eyes remained glued to Damon and his mystery woman. She had no right, no reason to be jealous. Hell, she and Damon weren't even on speaking terms at the moment. But she'd be lying if she denied that her inner green-eyed monster wasn't growling a little.

At that precise moment, his date turned her head, following Damon's gaze and landing on her with a curious smile. She was gorgeous, of course, but Elena was also struck by the notion that there was something vaguely familiar about her. The pale, lightly freckled skin and blond hair, her big warm eyes, the way she gripped Damon's chin, forcing him to focus on whatever she was now saying, and the way his posture seemed to relax in response, rolling his eyes and chuckling at whatever it was she had told him. Elena was sure that she'd never met the woman before, but her appearance and her interaction with Damon definitely reminded her of someone.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than did Damon's assistant Liz walk up to the pair, hugging the girl tightly and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Elena's eyes grew impossibly wide as she met Damon's icy blue stare over Liz's shoulder. But then Liz was speaking to him and his eyes drifted away, his attention diverted back to his secretary and the woman at his side who was clearly her daughter.

"Talk about tight," Elena muttered under her breath before spinning back around on her barstool and tossing back her drink in one gulp. If Damon was dating his assistant's daughter, then there was certainly no hope of winning over one without the other.

"You know that stuff is forty dollars a glass, right?" Ric cried in mock outrage. "It's meant to be sipped, not shot."

"Oh, I know," she sighed, propping her elbow on the bar and setting her chin in the palm of her hand. "But desperate times and all."

"Hey," Ric said, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and drawing her eyes back up to his. "You'll settle in, and it'll get better." He poured her another glass and pushed it across the bar to her. "Now, savor this one," he teasingly demanded, shaking a finger at her before heading to the other end of the bar.

Sipping her bourbon and only half listening to Bonnie and Mason debate Irish versus American whiskey, Elena idly traced the wood grain of the bar top with a fingernail. Her eyes wandered up to the mirrored backsplash behind the bar every few minutes, each time searching for him in the growing crowd. She told herself it was because she was watching, waiting, for the right time to approach Damon to try and apologize for her behavior earlier that afternoon. But truth be told, there were a whole host of other reasons why she couldn't keep her eyes off of him. How he effortlessly mingled with their colleagues, how almost every female there seemed to hang on his every word, how he playfully slapped the blonde one's ass before she headed off toward the back of the restaurant, how his eyes seemed to grow more lively, his laugh more carefree and his cheeks enticingly more rosy with each pint glass of Guinness he consumed.

"Handsome, isn't he?"

The question whispered over her shoulder surprised her, as did the plate of food that suddenly appeared on the bar in front of her. Turning her head toward the voice, Elena found herself face to face with Damon's date. She blushed furiously at having been caught staring - by her no less - and quickly diverted her gaze, letting her hair fall between them to hide her face.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "You two make a very lovely couple."

The outburst of laughter beside her was not the response Elena had expected, causing her eyes to snap up and meet the blonde's sparkling blue ones. "What's so funny?"

"Let me demonstrate," she replied, turning slightly and using her hand on Elena's shoulder to direct her to do the same. "Hey, asshole!" she shouted over the crowd.

Almost instantly, and without even turning toward them or interrupting his conversation, Damon lifted his free hand into the air and raised his middle finger, unceremoniously shooting her the bird.

"Right back 'atcha," she hollered back at Damon, who, aside from a quick eye roll and shake of his head, carried on like their side exchange hadn't even occurred. No one around them seemed to think anything of it either.

"So, not a couple?" Elena asked, as the woman turned them back around toward the bar.

"God no! And besides, I'm too pretty to go to jail."

Furrowing her brow, Elena tilted her head in confusion. "How would dating Damon result in you going to jail?"

"Because I'd kill him," she stated matter-of-factly, tucking a few loose strands of her straw-colored hair into the bun at the back of her head. "We're just business partners. Damon owns part of this place. And I'm engaged to his brother."

If Elena's chin wasn't already on the bar top, it certainly was now. "He what?! You what?!"

"Yeah, keep that first part on the down low. He doesn't really like to broadcast it. Damon's best friend Ric owns most of it anyways," she whispered, nodding toward the bartender, who had been sucked into Bonnie and Mason's ongoing whiskey debate. By now, they had several more bottles and shot glasses on the bar in front of them.

"As for the second part," Caroline continued, regaining her attention, "I've been engaged to Damon's brother, Stefan, for a couple of years. We're getting married at the end of the summer."

Her head spinning from information overload, Elena mentally took a step back, trying to organize it all in her mind. Looking again at the woman next to her, she noticed for the first time that she was in a Chef's coat and that the name "Caroline" was stitched in pink cursive lettering just above the front pocket."

"You're the chef," Elena reasoned aloud. "Caroline?"

"That's me," she nodded. "And if you don't start eating that food, _Elena_," she said, pointing toward the salad still sitting untouched on the bar in front of her, "I'm going to be offended."

"Ohmigosh, I'm sorry," Elena stuttered, picking up a fork and digging in. After a few bites of the best grilled chicken caesar salad she'd ever tasted, she paused and looked back over at Caroline. "Wait a second," she started, setting down her fork, "One, how did you know I liked chicken caesar salad? And two, how did you know my name?"

Caroline smiled, holding up a finger. "One, my mom said it seemed to be a standing lunch order of yours."

"Liz?" Elena asked, picking up her fork again and taking another bite.

"A point for the newbie," Caroline grinned. "And two," she said, holding up another finger, "Every other word out of Damon's mouth the past few days has been 'Elena.' He won't shut up about you."

Her fork clattered to the plate as Elena struggled to swallow the bite she'd been chewing. "All bad, I'm sure," she grimaced.

Caroline shrugged. "Some bad, but trust me, he's no saint either. And he's said some good things too."

"Like what?" Elena scoffed disbelieving.

"Let's see…" Caroline said, putting a finger to her lips and closing her eyes as if she were concentrating especially hard. When she opened them back up, they were full of mirth. "I believe the exact quote was, 'She's hot as hell.'"

Elena was glad she didn't have a bite of food in her mouth right then because she was sure she would have spit it out in shock. As it was, she was sure she'd turned ten shades of red and her eyeballs were bulging out of their sockets.

"You look like a dying fish right now, though," Caroline giggled.

Clasping her hand over her mouth, Elena struggled to regain control of her motor functions. That was the very last thing she expected Damon Salvatore to say about her. Peeking again into the mirrored backsplash, her eyes found his blue ones staring back at her. She still needed to apologize to him, but now her mind was racing in a different direction, wanting to know what else he might be thinking.

Tearing her eyes away from his, she turned back to Caroline, curiosity getting the best of her. "So, what else has Damon said about me, _exactly_?"

"Let's take this conversation to my office," Caroline smirked, snatching up the half-eaten plate of food and nodding toward the back of the restaurant where the kitchen was located.

Smiling widely, Elena hopped off her bar stool, leaned over to tell Bonnie where she was headed, and then hooked her arm through Caroline's as they weaved through the crowd. Glancing back over her shoulder, she found Damon watching her with wary eyes. He was clearly unhappy about this latest development, which made her wonder even more as to what he might have said about her. And thanks to her new blond friend, she was going to find out.

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_**Hit review below and let me hear your thoughts on this latest installment. There was a lot of love for Ric and Care in the reviews for the last chapter, so I hope you enjoyed the extra dose in this one. Next chapter will be filled with lots of DE interaction, so get ready ;) **_


	4. It's a Deal

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: *****BIG THANK YOU HUG* **to everyone who has read, reviewed, alerted and favorited my little story here. It's my first one to top 100 reviews, so I'm super excited and beyond grateful! Thanks as well to Chelley (chellethebelle) and Sandra (dutchtreat) for their tireless pre-reading and beta assistance. Couldn't do this without you ladies!

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

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_**Chapter 4 – It's a Deal**_

"Why are you in such a foul mood? That was a pretty damn good party, as far as firm functions go."

"There was free whiskey. Of course it was a good party," Damon replied, rolling his eyes at his friend who was doing a very wobbly Karate-Kid impression atop a fire hydrant in front of the pub. If not for a lifetime of surfing, he was sure Mason would have wiped out by now. Giving up on hailing a cab at this late hour, Damon dug his iPhone out of his jeans pocket and opened up the Uber app to call for a town car.

"Still stewing over Elena then…" Mason said knowingly, his arms flailing as he struggled to maintain his precarious balance. "Bonnie's pretty cool, though. She might even know more about whiskey than you and Ric."

"I doubt that," Damon scoffed. "And I have no problem with _Bonnie_." Which was the truth. The paralegal was easy-going, polite and professional, one of the better ones he'd worked with actually, and she'd become fast friends with Liz, having gone to lunch with his assistant the past two days. No, Bonnie was not the issue.

"So, Elena then…" Mason repeated, hopping down from the fire hydrant. "For what it's worth, Ric said she seemed pretty torn up when she first got here tonight."

"She ought to be," Damon muttered gruffly, stepping back toward the curb to keep an eye out for the car.

"I know what she did was low, but at least she felt bad about it."

And Damon knew that she had. He'd seen her eyes fill with regret as soon as the words 'catch up' had slipped past her lips. But the fact remained that she'd said them. She'd implied that he wasn't doing his job during a call with their clients and opposing counsel when she knew damn well that it wasn't the case. And not only had the woman professionally insulted him, but then she'd had the gall to show up at _his_ pub and drink _his_ reserve bourbon.

"Maybe you should give her the chance to apologize."

"Why should I?" Damon snapped, rounding on Mason, angry that one of his best friends was sticking up for the enemy. Well, fuck her, and fuck him too.

"Easy, buddy." Mason held up his hands and took a step back. "I'm on your side. Like I said, what Elena did today was BS, but you're stuck with her, whether you like it or not. Nailing this deal will pave your way for partnership. Are you really gonna let her screw that up for you?"

Growling in frustration, Damon roughly plowed a hand through his hair as he paced back at forth along the curb. Mason was right. There was no way out of this mess.

"You have to get ahead of her, dude. Don't give her the chance to put you in that situation again."

Damon stilled, nodding at his friend's suggestion, a plan already starting to form in his head. "Yeah, yeah, that's good."

"And hell," Mason smirked, giving his shoulder a jab, "You might even crack that icy exterior of hers."

"Why does everyone call her that anyways, 'The Ice Queen'?" Damon asked. He'd never paid close attention to office gossip. He had Liz for that, and she'd tell him anything he really needed to know.

"Well, aside from the fact that she doesn't play well with others, which you already know," Mason started, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the front window of the pub, "Apparently half of the male associates in the New York office, and even a couple of the female ones, have asked her out."

Damon wasn't surprised. There was no denying that Elena was an attractive woman, attitude notwithstanding. Were he not who he was and she not who she was – perfect strangers, instead, who happened to meet at a bar or in a club – he'd definitely offer to buy her a drink. And if the looks he'd caught from her in the backsplash mirror tonight were any indication, she'd probably take him up on it.

"And I take it she shot them all down," Damon surmised.

"Yep," Mason nodded. "Every last one of them. The girl does nothing but work. Even Bonnie's worried about her. She doesn't visit her family, doesn't have many friends, doesn't go out much at all. Just works, twenty-four-seven. Such a waste with a body like that."

"You got all of that from a couple of drinks with her paralegal?" Damon asked, stepping back to the curb and raising his arm to flag down the town car that had finally appeared at the other end of the street.

"Paralegal _and_ best friend," Mason corrected. "And what kind of dirt do you think she got on you tonight, huh? She disappeared into that kitchen with Caroline and never came back out."

"Don't remind me," Damon groaned, not wanting to think about the mountains of blackmail material Caroline had on him.

When the town car pulled to a stop in front of them, Damon gave the driver his friend's address while Mason climbed into the back seat and rolled down the window. "You coming out with us tomorrow morning?"

"Nah," Damon answered. "I've got some work to do. 'Getting ahead' and all that. Sunday morning, though?"

"Most definitely," Mason replied, stretching a closed fist out the window. "We'll be there, sun up."

"See you then," Damon said, bumping fists with Mason before the town car pulled away.

Strolling back into the restaurant, Damon abruptly stopped just inside the front door, his eyes widening at the sight of Elena and Caroline standing next to the bar, overcome with laughter as they tried to steady Bonnie on her feet. No easy task, it seemed, since Elena clearly wasn't too stable on her own, and if the empty wine bottle in Caroline's free hand was any indication, he knew exactly why.

"Damon!" Caroline shouted, as he began to make his way over to them. "Perfect timing. These two need an escort home."

At the mention of his name, Elena's eyes snapped up, meeting his for a split second before darting away. She shifted in her black leather pumps, standing up straighter and attempting to compose herself while studiously avoiding his gaze.

Diverting his attention to the giggling blond for a moment, Damon held a finger up to his lips. "Caroline, the bar is empty, inside voices."

"Oh, sorry," she replied loudly, and then clasped a hand over her mouth, futilely muffling another peal of laughter. Elena's barely-there composure cracked, sending her into a fit of giggles, and Damon couldn't tear his eyes away from her, fascinated by this newfound Elena. And when she looked back over at him with twinkling brown eyes and an easy, genuine smile, it was hard to remember why he was angry with her in the first place. Fun was a good look on her.

"Are y'all just gonna stand there and have eye-sex with each other all night or can we go now?"

"Bonnie!" Elena gasped, her eyes widening and her entire face turning bright red. She quickly averted her gaze, shooting a betrayed look at her best friend who returned it with a cheeky grin.

Caroline doubled over with laughter again, and Damon couldn't hold it in any longer either. The mortified expression on Elena's face was priceless. Rolling her eyes at them, Elena hung her head and let her arms flop to her side in surrender, but Damon could see the grin pulling up the corners of her mouth. And when Bonnie poked her in the side, hitting a tickle spot, she burst out laughing. It was the break in the evening's tension that they'd all needed.

When they eventually got themselves back under control, Damon pulled his iPhone out of his pocket to call them a car. "Don't be silly," Elena waved him off. "We're just at the Meridien, a couple of blocks over. We can walk." With her brow furrowed and the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her teeth, she finally managed to gather Bonnie to her side and walked past him toward the door.

Suddenly, a bar towel whacked him in the back of the head. Turning slightly, he saw Ric standing behind him. "Go!" his best friend mouthed, pointing after Bonnie and Elena.

And when he didn't immediately respond, another bar towel struck the side of his face. "Now!" Caroline silently directed him from her place next to the bar.

Not wanting to find out what might be chucked at his head next, Damon kicked his ass into gear, rushing forward and catching up with Elena and Bonnie just outside the restaurant. He hooked his arm through Bonnie's free one, shifting her weight onto him and off of Elena. "Let me walk you back," he said.

"Damon-" she started to protest, shaking her head.

Bonnie beat him to the reply. "Elena," she said, letting go of her friend's arm and reaching up to pinch her lips shut, nearly causing Damon to lose it again. "The handsome and charming man wants to walk us home. Zip it."

"Fine," Elena huffed, shaking off Bonnie's hand and glowering at him before stalking ahead. And by the sway of her hips in her charcoal gray pencil skirt, Damon suspected that she knew exactly what kind of a view she was giving him. _Ice Queen, my ass_, he thought to himself with an appreciative smirk.

Ten minutes and a lively debate over wheated versus non-wheated bourbons later, they were standing in the hotel hallway while Elena retrieved the room key from her purse. She slipped it into the electric card reader, waiting for the lock to disengage, and then pushed the door open for them to enter.

Stepping over the threshold, Damon realized right away that this was Elena's room. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air and he recognized a few of the outfits strewn about as ones that she'd worn during the week. _Messy_, he thought, just like her desk at the office, and a joke about how someone so uptight could be so disorganized was on the tip of his tongue. But then Elena was back at Bonnie's other side, pulling her away from him and toward the open door that connected Elena's room to the one next to it.

Having fulfilled his chivalrous duties, Damon shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to exit. "I'll just be going then. You two have a good night."

"No, Damon wait!" Elena called after him, and when he turned back around, she was standing in the doorway to Bonnie's room, looking over her shoulder at him. There was a hint of anxiety in her eyes and a light touch of red coloring her cheeks. "I mean, can you give me a minute, please? We need to talk."

Rising up on her tiptoes, Bonnie peered at him over Elena's shoulder. "She still needs to apologize to you," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Bonnie!" Elena gasped for a second time that night, but unlike before, her eyes only strayed from his for a moment. When her gaze returned to his, it was steady, resolved, and she was waiting on him for an answer. _Give her a chance_, Mason's words echoed back to him.

"Sure," he nodded.

Smiling softly, Elena told him she'd be "right back" and then followed Bonnie into the other room.

Removing his leather jacket, Damon tossed it on the bed and picked up the iPad that was lying there. He launched the web browser, wanting to check the day's baseball scores, and it brought up two open tabs. Damon couldn't decide if he was more surprised that one was his attorney profile page (still) or that the other one was a fantasy baseball site. Opting to focus on the latter and trying not to read too much into the former, he lowered himself into the desk chair, straightening some of the papers on her desk and putting the scattered pens back in their cup holder before slinging his feet up and examining her roster. He had to admit that he was impressed with some of the moves she'd made. The girl seemed to know her stuff.

After a few minutes, he heard the door to Bonnie's room click shut and glanced up from the screen. Elena was eyeing him warily from the other side of the room, and he could tell that the rather chilly walk back to the hotel and taking care of Bonnie had sobered her up. Tension was quickly creeping back in between them. Not wanting to add to it further, he discretely closed his profile page and held up the iPad so she could see that he was looking at her fantasy roster.

"You know," he smirked, "I could ruin your season with just a couple of clicks."

He watched as she noticeably relaxed, kicking off her heels and tossing her cardigan onto the pile of clothes in the corner. She walked over to the cabinet beneath the television and pulled out two glass tumblers and two airplane-sized bottles of Jack Daniels. "You wouldn't," she stated matter-of-factly, as she emptied a bottle into each glass.

Setting the iPad on the desk and dropping his feet to the floor, he rose from the chair and came around to the front of the desk, standing next to her. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, intrigued by Elena's certainty.

"Because you like a fair fight," she answered, looking up and holding out a glass to him. "Which is why I owe you an apology."

Accepting the offered glass, Damon took a sip, letting the alcohol burn across his tongue and down his throat. "Jack isn't much of an apology for tapping into my private collection tonight."

Elena shrugged, taking a swig from her own glass as she stepped away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's the best I've got, under the circumstances. And besides, Bonnie's dad is a distributor for Sazerac. I can replace the other bottle any time."

Well, that explained how Bonnie was such an expert on whiskey. Damon made a mental note about who to call the next time his stock was low.

"But you know that's not what I was referring to," Elena continued, staring intently down at the glass of whiskey she was holding in her lap.

"I know what it's like, you know. That competitive New York mindset," he told her, and Elena's head jerked up, curiosity filling her wide brown eyes. Damon took another swallow of whiskey as he walked over to the window, looking out at the lighted pyramid where he spent the bulk of his time now. "I know what it feels like to do anything to get ahead. I grew up with that shit."

"For how long?" she asked in a surprised voice. "I read your bio. You did your undergrad and law school out here. And you don't have the accent."

"Neither do you," he said, turning back around and cocking an eyebrow at her. "My mom moved us out here when I was in high school. Accent faded, not that I had much of one to begin with."

"Hmm. So you lived here, in San Francisco?"

"St. Helena, up in Wine Country. And I came in with that same attitude you have. Determined to be the best, fuck all the rest. I also partied a lot harder than you."

"I party," she grumbled, eyes flashing defiantly.

Damon shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think you even know what that word means, Elena. And besides, I guarantee that I partied harder."

"What changed?" she asked, shifting on the bed to tuck a leg beneath her and giving him a tantalizing view of even more of her toned, olive legs in the process. "I certainly wouldn't have pegged you for a native New Yorker."

"I tried to railroad Ric one too many times – in sports, in class, even went after his girl."

"Wait a second," Elena interrupted, holding up a hand and furrowing her brow in confusion. "Ric? As in the bartender at the pub? Isn't he your best friend?"

"Yep, same one," he nodded.

"What happened?"

"He beat the shit out of me. Even left a scar," Damon said, pointing to the mark on the left side of his chin where Ric's god-awful ugly family ring had cut him. "And I totally deserved it. Put me in my place. We've been best friends ever since."

"Hmm," Elena mumbled, shrinking a little and finishing her drink in one gulp.

"Don't worry," he drawled. "I'm not going to touch a hair on that pretty little head of yours."

Looking back up at him, he saw a spark of mischief in her eyes and a sly grin pull at her lips. "Just pretty? What happened to hot as hell?"

Of course Caroline would tell Elena that. He kicked himself again for saying it within earshot of her. He knew it would come back to bite him in the ass. He wondered if that was all, though. "So what else did Caroline tell you?"

"Cone of silence," Elena grinned, tenting her arms above her head. "But mostly she just went on and on about her wedding."

Grimacing, Damon finished the rest of his drink in one swallow and set his empty glass down on the desk. "Be glad you weren't here six months ago when she dragged us to every possible venue in the Bay Area," he replied, turning back toward the window and recalling all of the 'appointments' in near-by buildings that Stefan had dragged him to for moral support, claiming it was the best man's duty to make sure the groom didn't go insane before the wedding day.

He heard Elena rise from the bed behind him and place her glass on the desk. "It seems like a gorgeous city," she said wistfully, coming to stand beside him and looking out at the cityscape.

"And I bet you haven't taken a minute to enjoy it, have you?" Damon asked, openly admiring the way the full moon and the city lights reflected off her lovely yet melancholy profile. The resigned shrug of her shoulders gave him an idea.

"I'll accept your apology on one condition," he said, turning to fully face her now.

"What's that?" she replied, considering him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"You give me one day to show you my city. One day, Elena. You can relax and see some of the sights. God knows you're wound too tight. It'll be good for you."

"Damon, we have too much work to do," she argued, glancing over at the piles of paper on her desk.

Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face and forced her brown eyes to meet his blue ones. "I'll make you a deal. If we can get through all of the due diligence and send a draft of the agreement to our client for review by the end of the day tomorrow, then you'll give me Sunday."

"I don't know," she hesitated, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and attempting to shake her head. Damon tightened his grip on her chin, using his thumb and forefinger to hold her still while staring into her eyes – waiting, hoping, that she would agree.

And in that instant, the primitive part of him that had awoken during their first meeting, that had watched her from across the bar all night, and that had wondered what it would be like to thaw the "Ice Queen," roared back to life.

"Come on, Elena," he implored, no longer able to resist the urge to pry her lip free and smooth his thumb across it like he'd wanted to do the first time they'd met. Encouraged when he saw her eyes darken and heard her breath hitch, he stepped closer, trailing a finger up her jawline and brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Live a little."

"Alright," she breathed, her eyes still locked with his.

Leaning forward, his lips grazed her cheek in a ghost of kiss before whispering into her ear, "It's a deal." When he pulled back, her eyes were glazed over with lust and a bright red blush was creeping up her neck to her cheeks.

_Oh yes, there was definitely fire beneath all that ice. _

Turning on his heel with a smirk, he picked up his jacket from the bed and walked to the door, opening it and then looking back at Elena. She was standing right where he'd left her, with her palm against her cheek and her dazed eyes staring after him.

"Goodnight," he winked, before shutting the door behind him and exiting the hotel, on his way back to the office, bound and determined to do whatever it took to make sure he was on the winning end of their deal.

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_**So, how's that for some DE interaction? Hit review below and share the love ;) Thanks again!**_


	5. One Day

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: **Continued thanks and hugs for all the reviews and love. Keeps the musie going! Many thanks are also in order for Sandra (dutchtreat), Chelley (chellethebelle) and Kate (This Is My Escape) for their continued support in the beta, pre-reading and sanity departments. Chelley is posting a new chapter of _To Save a Sinner_ today that is one of my favorites, so be sure to scurry off and read that next! And Chapter 7 of Kate's _Four Lettered Lie_ is also going up soon. Enjoy all the fanfic goodness ;)

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

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_**Chapter 5 – One Day**_

When Elena stepped out of the hotel lobby at 8AM sharp on Sunday morning, she was met with a clear San Francisco morning and a waiting town car. Neither of which she had expected. She haggled with the driver who'd introduced himself as Joe, not quite believing that he was there for her, especially when he refused to tell her where they were going, but then he opened the back passenger door and suggested she look inside. There on the seat were an orange panda hat, a black and orange hoodie and a fleece blanket proudly proclaiming the San Francisco Giants as World Champions. It was all the confirmation she needed.

Grinning, she apologized to Joe for giving him a hard time and crawled into the backseat, donning the hoodie and placing the blanket and hat in her lap. As the car headed south out of the City, her smile continued to grow with each passing mile of scenery. They turned off the freeway onto Highway 92 at the exit for Half Moon Bay, and as the car began to wind through the mountains, she marveled at the massive redwood trees lining the road, gasped at the precipice from which she could see the ocean, and shuddered a little when Joe told her they were crossing the San Andreas Fault. That brief fright gave way to wonder again as they passed the pumpkin patches and Christmas tree farms in the valley on the other side, and when they finally hit the Pacific Coast Highway, Elena rolled down her window, inhaled the salty sea breeze and allowed herself to feel a long lost sense of calm.

Damon was right. She needed this more than she'd realized.

After driving a few miles south, the car turned off the highway and onto a side road, eventually pulling up in front of a modest gray cottage with a green door and white-trimmed windows. There were wildflowers lining the slate walkway, tomato vines climbing cages in a small garden out front and cypress trees framing either side of the house. It was, without a doubt, one of the most charming places Elena had ever seen.

She was standing by the car, wishing Joe a safe trip back to the City, when the cottage door swung open and a blonde came barreling out toward her.

"You're here!" Caroline squealed, engulfing her in a hug, and Elena's smile grew wider.

"I'm here," she giggled, returning the hug before pulling back and asking Caroline, "Where exactly is _here_?"

Hooking her arm through Elena's and leading them toward the house, Caroline answered brightly, "Half Moon Bay."

"I figured that much from the freeway signs. I meant this house," Elena said, taking in the open and airy home. The eat-in kitchen was small but modern, with granite countertops, maple cabinets, stainless steel appliances and a raised breakfast bar. On the other side of the bar was a cozy sitting room furnished with a rocking chair, a plush sofa and an old-fashioned wood-burning stove. But what really captured Elena's attention was the view from the wall of floor to ceiling windows.

Having grown up on the East Coast, Elena was used to flat, shell covered beaches and rolling waves that gave way to gentle breakers. The beach outside these windows was nothing like that. Steep cliffs bottomed out into a sandy cove dotted with seaweed and driftwood and impressively large waves angrily crashed against the shore. She'd only seen waves that big once before in her life, when her family had been chased away from the coast late one summer by a hurricane.

"This is Mason's girlfriend's place. She's an event coordinator at the Ritz a little ways up the road," Caroline explained, grabbing two champagne flutes from a cabinet and a bottle of sparkling wine and a carton of OJ from the fridge. After the other night at the pub, Elena wasn't at all surprised when Caroline filled each glass with a little bit of juice and a lot of wine.

"For you," she said, handing her a glass before turning back around to check on something in the oven. Hanging out with a chef certainly had its perks, Elena thought, as she peeked over Caroline's shoulder at the quiches that were browning up nicely.

"Those smell heavenly," Elena said, taking another whiff before Caroline closed the oven door.

"Yeah, and the guys will devour them in thirty seconds flat," she replied, rolling her eyes as she brushed her hands off on a towel and picked up her own glass.

"Where are they anyways?" Elena asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. It didn't sound like Stefan or Damon were in the house, and given the amount of food Caroline had prepared, there had to be more than just the four of them for breakfast.

Nodding toward the window, Caroline took a sip of her mimosa. "The guys use this place whenever they go surfing with Mase and Tyler."

"You mean they're out there? In that?" Elena asked, stepping close to the window and squinting her eyes, peering out at the choppy ocean. And sure enough, far off in the distance, she could just make out four dark spots bobbing in the water. Taking a large, nervous gulp of her mimosa, Elena found herself irrationally worried about the safety of a certain dark haired, blue-eyed colleague that she'd known for less than a week.

"They're _out there_ just about every weekend," Caroline replied, laying a calming hand on her shoulder. "Come on," she said, tugging on Elena's sleeve to pull her toward the back door. "The view's even better downstairs."

Following Caroline down the narrow staircase, Elena gasped when she stepped out onto the lower level's slate patio. There wasn't much to the patio itself – a grill, a propane heater, a couple of tiki lamps and an old weather-beaten picnic table – but from where she stood now, the beach and ocean seemed closer, the cliffs steeper and the waves louder, making her feel completely immersed in her new surroundings.

Hearing clanging noises behind her, Elena glanced over her shoulder and saw her blond friend digging through a storage cupboard beneath the stairs. A few seconds later, she emerged with a couple of blankets and a pair of binoculars. "Here," Caroline said, handing her the binoculars and draping a blanket over her shoulders. "Damon's the one on the far right."

"How can you tell from this far away? You didn't even look!" Elena chuckled, putting her mimosa on the table and stepping onto the raised edge of the patio.

"They always surf in the same formation," Caroline told her, settling down on one of the picnic benches and sipping her drink. "Tyler and Stefan in the middle, Mason and Damon on the outside. Older brother thing, I suppose."

Lifting the binoculars to her eyes, Elena directed them to where she'd last seen the tiny dots in the ocean, turning the focusing wheels until the image became clear. She found Mason first. He was on the far left end, sitting astride his surfboard and gesturing animatedly. The smaller, noticeably younger guy to his right was laughing at Mason, and Elena figured him for his brother, Tyler. On the other side of Tyler was a large, well-built man, sitting taller than the other two, but his dancing green eyes and easy smile belied the bruiser physique. She recognized him from the pictures Damon and Liz had in their workspaces.

Lowering the binoculars an inch, she glanced over at Caroline, cocking an eyebrow. "Nice catch. Looks good in a wetsuit too."

"Why do you think I said yes," Caroline slyly grinned.

Laughing, Elena turned her attention back to the water, this time searching for Damon. When her magnified gaze finally settled on him, she had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to hold back a groan. Lifting his arms, he slicked back his wet hair that glistened black in the morning sunlight, and the wetsuit that clung to his body revealed the lean, well-defined muscles that had been hidden beneath his dress shirts all week. And his eyes were more striking than ever – the reflection of the sun off the water casting a light that made them appear almost translucent.

_Beautiful scenery, indeed_, she thought to herself.

As if he could read her mind, despite the stretch of ocean and the elevation of the cliffs between them, he abruptly turned in her direction and shot her a knowing smirk. And heaven help her, there was nothing she could do to suppress a sly grin of her own.

"I see you've found him," Caroline snickered.

"Do you notice _everything_?" Shaking her head, mostly at herself, Elena walked back over to the table, setting down on the unoccupied bench and trading the binoculars for her mimosa.

"So how'd Damon talk you into taking the day off?" Caroline asked.

"We made a deal," Elena answered, her cheeks heating as she remembered the other night in her hotel room. How his touch had sent sparks flying through her entire body, how she'd been so tempted to take his thumb between her teeth, how her heart had continued racing for a good half hour after he'd left.

"Exactly what kind of deal?" Caroline teased, undoubtedly noticing her insta-blush.

"Nothing like that! Just that if we got all of our work done yesterday, then I'd give him a chance to show me around town today."

"Well, congrats on getting it all done then," Caroline smiled, tilting her glass for a toast.

Clinking her glass against Caroline's, Elena finished off her drink. "Honestly, Damon deserves most of the credit," she said, setting her empty glass down on the table, before looking back out at the water and recalling just what Damon had done to make sure this _one day_ happened.

* * *

The click of the lobby doors had seemed absurdly loud when she'd entered the office the previous morning. Without the purr of the copiers, the low hum of the overhead fluorescents and the chatter among secretaries, it had seemed eerily quiet. Elena couldn't remember the New York office ever being that quiet, even on Thanksgiving Day.

Heading to their war room first, she'd found it empty, save for the piles of paper and stacks of boxes that she and Bonnie had left there the night before. Peeking next door, Damon's office was also dark. Not surprising given the early hour. Her internal clock was still set to East Coast time, so even with the extra amount of time she'd taken to chose her outfit that morning, she'd still beaten him in. Flipping on the war room lights and opening up her briefcase, she'd taken out her laptop and left it on the conference room table to power up while she'd gone to grab a few additional files from her office. Stopping by Bonnie's office on her way, she'd pulled down the blinds on the east-facing windows, blocking out the rising sun and hoping to spare her very hung over friend from any unnecessary torture when she eventually made it in.

With her attention focused on her iPad, setting her fantasy line up for the day's games, Elena had been halfway into her office before she'd heard it. Someone softly snoring behind her. Whipping around, she'd nearly dropped the tablet in shock at the sight of Damon passed out on the leather couch. His feet had been dangling over the edge, his legs all askew, and one arm had been holding a binder of financial reports to his chest while the other hung off the side, barely brushing the floor. Even in his awkward position, wearing jeans and a wrinkled dress shirt that she'd recognized as Friday's clothes, he'd looked peaceful, and she'd envied him more than a little in that moment. She craved a moment of peace like that.

She'd quietly slipped off her coat and hung it behind the door, before tiptoeing back to the couch and kneeling next to Damon. After gently slipping the binder from beneath his arm and setting it on the table behind her, she'd spent the next five or so minutes fighting the urge to brush his tousled hair off of his forehead. Her fingers had been less than an inch away, having finally surrendered, when Damon had stirred.

"Hey," he'd mumbled sleepily, his eyelids fluttering halfway open.

"Look who's sleeping on the job," she'd teased, both hands back in her lap.

"Already did my job," he'd smiled lazily, turning toward her on his side and tucking his arm beneath his head for a pillow. "Got ahead."

"Is that right?" she'd asked, trying to understand why it looked like he was snuggling down to sleep some more.

"Mark-up's on your desk," he'd said, the last word barely a whisper as he'd let his eyes slip shut again.

Eyes widening, Elena had abruptly stood and walked over to her desk. There in the middle of it, just like he'd said, was her draft agreement with his notes scribbled in the margins. She'd turned back around to ask him how, to ask him why, but he'd been snoring again already, leaving her to sort it out for herself. As to the how, she'd surmised that Damon must have come directly back to the office after leaving her hotel and worked through the night to get it all done, finally crashing there on her sofa when he'd finished. And as to the why, one possible answer had hit her like a freight train.

_Their deal_.

Had he done all that to guarantee his one day to show her around the City? To give her one day to relax?

Elena realized that it may have been a very self-centered notion - that he'd done it all for her. It was entirely possible that Damon had other, less noble reasons for his actions. But as she sat on the patio now, looking out at the ocean and listening to the waves crash against the beach below, she decided not to worry about it and to just be grateful for the much-needed moment of peace.

* * *

Half an hour later, Elena was back inside the house, pulling plates and utensils out of the kitchen drawers while Caroline expertly carved a pineapple, when suddenly there was a commotion on the floor below.

"Guys are back," Caroline smiled.

"Hey, babe!" came a shout from the bottom of the stairs, and seeing the smile on Caroline's face stretch wider, Elena assumed the voice belonged to Stefan. "How long?"

"About fifteen minutes," Caroline hollered back, tossing the pineapple core in the compost bin before opening the oven to pull out the quiches. "Hurry your asses up!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and a few seconds later, Elena heard several doors slam shut and all of the downstairs showers kicking on at once.

Caroline had just finished slicing the quiches when, to no surprise, Stefan was the first one to appear at the top of the stairs, dressed in jeans and a dark gray hooded pullover. Only having eyes for his fiancée, Stefan didn't even seem to register that Elena was there as he snuck up behind Caroline and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Stefan Salvatore," Caroline playfully scolded, squirming away from him and swatting at his hands with the pie spatula. "Where are your manners? We have a guest," she said, pointing at Elena with the utensil.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," he winked, pecking Caroline on the cheek before turning and extending a hand. "You must be Elena? Between Care and Damon, you're all I've heard about lately."

Shaking his hand, Elena laughed nervously. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"Nothing to worry about," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But word of warning," he added, leaning closer to whisper. "Those two pretend to hate each other but they gossip like teenage girls."

"I heard that," Caroline interrupted, handing them each a plate with two different slices of quiche – one, ham and swiss, and the other, spinach and feta – and a few chunks of pineapple.

"Good to know," Elena mouthed to Stefan over Caroline's shoulder, and when he snickered in response, Caroline spun around, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Whose side are you on?" the blonde jokingly chided.

"I didn't know I had to pick sides already," Elena countered, smiling around a piece of pineapple she'd just popped into her mouth.

"She's good," Stefan laughed, setting his plate on the breakfast bar and pulling up a stool before digging into his food.

"Just what I need," Caroline muttered, shaking her head as she prepared the other plates. "Another smart ass."

Pulling up a stool of her own and sampling each quiche, Elena took a moment to savor the first few bites before turning to Stefan. "So, did you guys have a good surf? Or whatever you call it…"

"Yeah, waves were good and the sun is out, which is a rare thing this time of year. Should be a good day for Damon to show you around the City."

"You and Caroline aren't coming?" Elena asked, setting her fork down on her plate. She'd figured that since they'd all met up here, the four of them would be touring together. Bonnie was already out for the day, having gone outlet shopping with Liz.

"I wish," he huffed, rolling his eyes and angrily stabbing a chunk of pineapple with his fork. "We have some wedding business to take care of at the Ritz, and then we're visiting one of the vineyards here in the Santa Cruz Mountains, up off of Skyline."

"Wine tasting?"

"Checking out a potential supplier, actually."

"Oh, that's right," Elena said, remembering the other night at the pub when Caroline mentioned that the vineyard where Stefan worked would be supplying the wine for their wedding. "Caroline told me you were in the wine business."

"You could say that," Mason snorted, entering the kitchen and grabbing a plate of food. Elena had the distinct impression that she was missing some critical piece of information. "Good to see you, Elena," Mason greeted, pulling up a stool on her other side.

"Yes, it is," came a familiar voice from behind them. Turning, she saw Damon strolling into the kitchen, dressed in dark wash jeans, a gray V-neck t-shirt that did nothing to hide his muscular chest and arms and a pair of black leather boots. Elena was internally debating whether she liked business Damon or casual Damon better when he spoke again. "Our family owns a vineyard," he explained, getting back to the winery discussion as he took a plate of food from Caroline and flopped down on the couch. "Monte Corvo."

Racking her brain for what little bits of unused Italian she had leftover from college, Elena came up with what she thought was the correct translation. "Crow Mountain?"

"Someone knows her Italian," Damon smirked, taking a bite of food.

"I remember a little," she grinned at him, before shifting her attention back to Stefan. "So what do you do there?"

"A little bit of everything," he answered.

"Baby bro's being modest," Damon said around a mouthful of food.

"He's the chief winemaker, one of the youngest in the Valley," Caroline piped up proudly, as she handed a plate of food to Tyler, who'd finally made his way upstairs.

"That's amazing, Stefan," Elena replied, after shaking Tyler's hand. She was more than a little in awe at how someone so young could be heading up that kind of operation. Both of the Salvatore boys, it seemed, had done pretty well for themselves.

"Yeah, well," Stefan shrugged, getting up from his stool so Caroline could sit down and eat. "Still feels like I've got training wheels on, the way our mother is constantly looking over my shoulder."

"So, she has a little trouble letting go," Damon chuckled, sliding over to make room for Tyler. "Woman doesn't know the meaning of the word _retirement_."

"I know the feeling," Tyler grumbled. "Dad's been out of private practice for years and yet he's constantly telling me how to do my job."

"Thank goodness for little brothers to pick up the slack for us," Mason replied, punching Stefan in the shoulder as he wandered back into the kitchen for another slice of quiche. Damon gave Tyler a slap on the back as well.

"Elena's an older sister," Caroline chimed in as she nibbled on a piece of pineapple.

"Oh yeah, how many siblings?" Mason asked, returning to his stool next to her.

"Just one, a younger brother, Jeremy."

"And Bonnie mentioned that he's living in New York too, right?"

"That's right," she answered, smiling proudly. "He's an art graduate student at NYU."

"What'll he do with that?" Stefan asked, collecting empty plates and carrying them to the sink.

"He really likes history, particularly old myths and legends, so he's hoping to curate exhibits focusing on those themes. His first one is next month, actually."

"You should definitely bring him out here sometime," Tyler said. "Plenty of museums in San Francisco."

"Speaking of," Damon said, drawing her attention back to him as he rose from the couch, eyeing her with a devilish smirk. "_We_ need to get going."

"You're going to have so much fun," Caroline squealed, bouncing on her stool. "And we'll see you tonight at -"

"Caroline!" Damon barked, cutting her off.

"What?!" the blonde sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "It's not like she couldn't figure that part out from the stuff in the car this morning."

"And it was the one request I made for the day," Elena added, getting up from her stool and going over to the hall closet where Caroline had stashed all of the Giants gear she'd arrived with.

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of day left before we get there," Damon whispered, his hot breath skirting across her neck and his front pressing lightly against her back, as he reached around her to grab his leather coat from a hanger. And just as quickly as he'd snuck up behind her, he was gone, leaving a cool gust in his wake. Stopping halfway down the stairs, he looked back up at Stefan, reminding his brother to bring him a few samples from the winery, and then over at her. "You coming?"

"Uh, yeah," Elena said, shaking herself out of the momentary daze. "Pleasure meeting and seeing all of you," she smiled, giving the rest of them a parting nod before following Damon down the stairs.

"You were asking your brother for some samples, are you making wine too?"

"I dabble," he shrugged, and then looked over his shoulder, giving her a wink. "Maybe I'll let you taste it sometime."

"I'd like that. So, why did we start the day here?" she asked next, as Damon led her through the bottom floor of the house toward the garage, her excitement for the day ahead growing with every step.

"Well, when we made our little deal," he started, waggling his eyebrows as he held open the door to the garage for her, "I'd forgotten that I already had plans to go surfing with Mason this morning. But then I thought, it'd be the perfect start to your tour."

"Why's that?" Elena replied, tilting her head slightly as she considered the cars in front of her – a salt-crusted Ford Bronco, a relatively new Ford Fiesta hatchback, and a baby blue, mint condition, late sixties, if she was figuring correctly, convertible Chevy Camaro. It only took a few seconds to work it out. She walked over to the Camaro, opening the passenger door and slipping into the seat before looking back at Damon, who was staring at her in stunned silence. "You coming?" she parroted his words back to him with a cheeky grin.

Covering with a smirk, Damon hit the button to lift the garage door, strode over to the driver side of the Camaro and slid behind the wheel. "I wanted to make sure you saw the Pacific Ocean at least once while you're out here," he grinned, pulling a pair of Ray-Bans out of his jacket pocket and starting up the car. Stopping at the end of the driveway, he lifted up his sunglasses and raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "You okay with the top down? You'll get a helluva view this way as we drive up the coast."

"More than okay," she smiled warmly at him, zipping her hoodie all the way up and spreading her Giants blanket across her lap. "Someone made sure of that already."

He rewarded her with a dazzling smile, his eyes bright blue and his cheeks slightly flushed, before dropping his sunglasses back down and pulling out onto the main road. A few miles later, he glanced over at her and asked, "How did you know?"

"About?" Elena replied, having been lost in the passing scenery around her. Damon had been right; it was even more breathtaking in a convertible, and they were taking a different route back to the City, winding north up Highway 1 along the coast instead of over the mountain.

"The cars," he prompted.

Elena laughed, realizing he was still smarting from being surprised by her earlier. "Process of elimination," she answered. "Salt-crust and surf racks on top of the Bronco, and Caroline's sunglasses were on the dash of the Fiesta. So, that left the Camaro to you."

"Nicely deduced," he said, though Elena could detect a touch of disappointment in his voice. Damon had probably expected a more compelling reason for why she'd known the Camaro was his. And in fact, she had one, only she wasn't about to tell him. She'd known this car was his, even before she'd really considered the other ones, because of one simple fact. It matched his eyes. But that was a romantic notion she'd keep to herself… for now.

* * *

_**Hope you enjoyed. Hit review and let me know! More San Francisco fun in the next chapter ;)**_


	6. I Promise

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

******Special Dedication: **The BF and I celebrated our fourteenth anniversary this past weekend, and I'm feeling sentimental, so I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge and thank him for making this story possible. So much of TLC, this chapter and the last in particular, is drawn from my own experience visiting and then moving out to Bay Area from the East Coast. That would have never happened, and neither would the Giants games, the trips to Napa and Half Moon Bay, or all the sports, food, wine and bourbon knowledge in my head, if not for him. It was scary as hell leaving all of our family and friends, but I can say with 100% certainty that following my heart in this case was one of the best decisions I ever made.

**A/N: **Okay, sappy stuff over...Thank you all for continuing to read, favorite, alert and review, and I bow down at the feet of Sandra (dutchtreat) and Chelley (chellethebelle), who keep this story and my muse rolling.

_**Chelley just wrapped her fantastic story, To Save a Sinner, and at the end of the last chapter, she included a sneak peak at her new story, Rock Hard, Love Harder. As someone who has seen the future, so to speak, let me tell you, it's gonna rock ;) Be sure to add her to your Author Alerts so you'll be in on the fun (and angst!) from the get go…**_

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 5 – I Promise**_

The rest of their drive up the coast along Highway 1 was both exhilarating and, at times, harrowing. Damon took the hard curves at a safe enough speed, but a two lane highway sandwiched between mountain bluffs on one side and a sheer drop to the ocean on the other, with a disturbing lack of guardrails, gave it a certain air of danger. But God, the view was gorgeous – waves crashing against rock jetties and sandy cliffs, seagulls flying overhead and a handsome tour guide whose windswept raven hair and bright blue eyes were almost as breathtaking as the scenery.

When Damon turned the Camaro off the coastal highway onto the interstate, heading northeast into the City, he reached between the seats to grab something from the back. "Here," he said, pulling his arm back through and dropping a book in her lap.

Flipping it over in her hands, Elena saw that it was a pocketsize travel guide for San Francisco. "Why do I need this? Haven't you already decided where we're going today?" she asked, as she began to look through the guide.

"I have," he winked. "But I want to see if you can guess."

They passed the rest of the drive along the interstate and 19th Avenue that way – her flipping pages, tossing out guesses, and him summarily rejecting all of them, which she knew had to be a practical impossibility – until Damon hung a right, taking one of the winding roads into the heart of Golden Gate Park.

"Stop 1 on the Damon Salvatore Tour of San Francisco," he proclaimed proudly, as they took the elevator up from the subterranean garage beneath the Music Concourse.

"Liar!" Elena protested. Golden Gate Park had been one of her very first guesses.

"I am not," Damon replied smugly. "You just weren't specific enough. Come on," he said, tilting his head for her to follow as he set off across the large oval lawn of the outdoor amphitheater.

Understanding dawned when they arrived at the first of many separate attractions within the Park – the Japanese Tea Garden. Eschewing the traditional cup of green tea in favor of coffee from a vendor just outside the large ornamental gate, they sipped their drinks while strolling aimlessly through the sanctuary. There were lush green hedges, trimmed in the shape of dragons, delicate flowers that filled the air with sweet smells, and trickling streams of water that ran through stone steps, under an old, wooden, drum bridge and down waterfalls to a reflecting pond full of lily-pads. Sitting on an intricately carved stone bench near the Garden's five story, shiny red pagoda, Elena closed her eyes and focused on the sounds and smells around her, appreciating the calm, tranquil oasis and feeling the sense of peace that had begun to take root in her earlier in the day.

A few minutes later, Damon placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You ready for the next stop?" he asked softly from beside her.

Opening her eyes and looking over at him, she smiled serenely. "Lead the way."

Their next stop wasn't far at all. Taking the Tea Garden's side exit that led directly into the de Young Museum, Damon snagged a museum map from the lobby docent and handed it to her, telling her to pick out and wander the exhibits that sparked her interest. She was meandering through the Mandel Photography Exhibition, captivated by the black and white photos of some of San Francisco's most notable artists, when Damon found her again.

Grabbing her by the wrist, he tugged her over to a bank of elevators, and a short ride later, they emerged onto the observation deck of the Hamon Tower. Weaving their way through the mass of people, Elena gasped when they finally made it to the front and she gazed out the large windows. From this vantage point, she could see the entire length of the massive Park, all the way down to the Dutch Windmill, and just beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.

"Even better than the view from that corner office of yours, isn't it?" Damon whispered into her ear.

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, eyes still fixed on the view in front of her, but acutely aware of Damon's body behind her. With less than an inch of space between them, owing to the packed observation deck, she could feel the heat of his body against her back and his warm breath tickling her neck. It took every ounce of her considerable willpower not to lean back into the muscled chest she'd been admiring in skintight neoprene just a couple of hours ago.

"There's more to life than those four walls, Elena," he purred seductively, trailing a finger lightly up her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She was on the verge of giving in, her resolve shot to hell by his flirtatious touch and gravely voice, when he spoke again. "I'll be out front, when you're ready," he said, his lips grazing the outer shell of her ear, his fingers giving her waist a gentle squeeze, and then he was gone, leaving her breathless as another wave of tourists converged around her.

After taking fifteen minutes in the Museum gift shop to pull herself together, Elena found Damon sitting on the front steps, chatting with another docent about an upcoming exhibit. Plopping down next to him, she waited for him to finish his conversation, before asking where they were headed to next. Following her lead and thankfully skirting over their heated exchange upstairs, Damon gave her two options – the California Academy of Sciences, a huge life sciences museum just across the oval lawn, or the Conservatory of Flowers a short, ten minute walk away.

While the Academy sounded intriguing, with its "Living Roof", aquariums and interactive exhibits, Elena couldn't resist the call of the white-domed greenhouse she'd seen on postcards in the Museum Gift Shop. The grounds in front of the Conservatory were amazing in and of themselves, expertly manicured and full of color from the seasonal plants that lined the entryway. Once inside, Elena could have sworn she'd been transported to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, only the candy had been replaced with flowers of every size, shape and color. And when they walked into a greenhouse cottage where hundreds of butterflies flew free among the flowers and plants, Elena didn't think twice before running out among them, laughing out loud and twirling with her arms wide open.

"If you start singing about hills and the sound of music, I will leave your ass here, Maria," Damon teased sarcastically from where he stood, leaning against a metal railing, his arms folded across his chest and his ankles crossed, looking devilishly handsome in the fractured greenhouse light.

"Don't tempt me," she grinned, humming the tune that had already been playing in her mind.

"Great," he grumbled, rolling his eyes and trailing behind her as she scurried past him toward another exhibit.

When he finally dragged her out of there an hour later, she gave him her best Veruca Salt impression, pouting at the perceived injustice, until her stomach growled loudly, sending her into a fit of giggles. Damon's answering smirk was as short-lived as her pout, lasting only seconds before first one corner of his mouth and then the other lifted into a full-fledged grin that reached all the way to his bright eyes. Elena felt like all those butterflies from the Conservatory were doing aerials in her belly.

"I've got just what the doctor ordered for that," he chuckled, pointing at her grumbling stomach, before turning and heading back toward the garage where the Camaro was parked.

"What doctor?" she asked, quieting her fluttering insides and running to catch up with him.

"Me," he said, to which she cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "What? I believe my law degree says 'Juris _Doctor_' on it."

Groaning, Elena rolled her eyes, hard. "You did not just go there."

"Oh, come on," he whined. "Like you haven't done it before either."

"Maybe once," she shrugged, looking anywhere but directly at him.

Damon cocked a doubtful eyebrow right back at her.

"Ok, fine, more than once," she conceded, her arms flopping at her sides as a grin stretched across her face. The bemused smile he gave her in return sent the butterflies into orbit again.

On their walk back to the car, Damon listed off all the delicious menu items at Brenda's, the French Soul Food place they were headed to for lunch. But _first_, he told her, there was something they had to do on the way. Driving out of the Park and heading east, they'd just begun to pick up speed when Damon pulled into a line of cars inching slowly up one steep hill in particular.

"Why'd you get the granny lane?" she asked jokingly.

"You didn't _really_ think I was going to let this day go by _without_ driving you down the most crooked street in the country," he replied, just as they crested the hill. That's when she noticed the street sign – Lombard – right before the Camaro's tires began to rumble over the brick pavers lining the winding road. As Damon expertly navigated the twists and turns, Elena climbed onto her knees in the seat, bracing one hand against the edge of the front windshield and the other against her headrest, as she looked back up the hill, observing the neatly trimmed hedges, the vibrant shrubs and the multicolored houses that hemmed in the curvy street. It was another postcard come to life, just like the Conservatory.

At the bottom of the hill, she plopped back down in her seat, grinning like a fool, until Damon told her to "Brace for Impact" and held out a hand to her. She eyed him curiously, unsure what he meant by his words and proffered hand, but then after another quick couple of turns, she got it. Finding herself staring down the steepest street she'd ever seen, Elena slammed her hand into Damon's, gripping it tightly, as they dipped over the edge and sped down the hill.

"Bullitt-style," Damon smirked as they reached level ground again.

"Wrong car, asshole," she muttered, and it was Damon's turn to laugh out loud. Smiling, he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand before letting it go to change gears, and Elena was surprised at how much she wanted to reach across the short distance and take it back again. She spent the rest of the ride to Brenda's sitting on her hands.

The small diner situated just up the street from San Francisco's federal buildings was everything Damon had promised. Opting for a second breakfast, he convinced her to try the Hangtown Fry, an 1850s Gold Rush original that involved eggs scrambled with crispy oysters, bacon and scallions. At the first delectable bite, she let out a soft moan, and her gaze instantly snapped to Damon's. She felt a swell of womanly pride seeing his eyes darken and his cheeks flush, as he adjusted himself in his chair before digging into his own meal.

As they ate, he regaled her with stories of his and Ric's "lost weekend" at Mardis Gras during their senior year of undergrad. And of course there had been a sequel several years later when Stefan had been old enough to partake. Damon clearly loved both of his "brothers" dearly, and after the Museum tour and the fried oysters, a Gilbert-family favorite, Elena made a mental note to call and check-in with Jeremy sooner rather than later.

Armed with cups of chicory-spiced coffee to go, they set off across town, driving through Ghirardelli Square and past Coit Tower, on the way to the piers for their last stop on the tour. Alcatraz. Damon readily admitted it was a tourist trap, but one that still shouldn't be missed. And truth be told, this had been the one place in the tour book she hadn't guessed aloud for fear that he'd tell her no. Visiting The Rock was second only to AT&T Park on her San Francisco to-do list, thanks in no small part to Sean Connery.

The ferry ride over was a bit choppy, but once on the island, Elena's inherited love of history kicked into high gear. After a brief look around the outside grounds, they entered the main building, where they were each given headphones and a hand-held recorder. Pushing play, Elena was quickly mesmerized by the voices and the stories of Alcatraz's former guards and inmates who served as the narrators for their audio tour. The entire effect was chilling – the long, narrow cellblocks, with the only source of light from windows three or four floors above or at the end of the hallway, tiny cells that Damon could easily touch both sides of with his fingers, and a cold, wind that whipped and howled all around them.

The most haunting things by far though were the solitary confinement rooms – three walls and barely enough floor space to turn around in, shut off from the rest of the world by a solid iron door that blocked out any and all light. Shivering, Elena hugged her arms around herself, futilely trying to ward off the ghosts of one of the most notorious prisons in the world. Damon was behind her a second later, draping his leather coat over her shoulders and rubbing her upper arms. This time she didn't resist leaning back into him and using his warm body to chase the chill from her bones.

When the audio tour directed them to move on to the mess hall, Elena reluctantly began to pull away, but then Damon's left hand slid down her arm to her hip, holding her in place. Using his other hand to pull off her headphones, he leaned his head down and whispered against her cheek, "How about we go ahead and skip to the best part …"

"What's that?" Elena breathed, any trace of cold long gone as the light scratch of his stubble against her skin sent sparks racing through her.

"Follow me," he said, stepping around her and offering his hand. Placing her hand in his without hesitation this time, their gazes locked for a moment before he turned on his heel and headed down the hallway toward an exit door. Emerging outside in the cement exercise yard, all Elena could see were the massive cement walls topped with barbed wire that surrounded them on three sides. Furrowing her brow, she shot Damon a confused look, to which he mouthed "Trust me" before tugging her up the cement steps that were cut into the fourth wall. When they reached the top, she turned around and gasped.

Elena was looking at what had to be the most beautiful sunset she'd ever seen. It was early evening, still too soon for the sun to slip fully below the horizon, but from where it sat, just above the western cliffs and rolling hills of San Francisco, it backlit the City in a golden orange light and caused the Golden Gate Bridge to glow a fiery red.

"Hell of a view, isn't it?" Damon said, letting go of her hand and taking a seat on the top step.

Nodding silently, Elena's gaze remained transfixed on the vista ahead as she lowered herself next to him.

"Can you imagine being a prisoner here?" he continued. "I mean San Francisco is _right there_, separated by just a mile and half of water. What must it have been like to sit on this rock, day after day, and watch the City grow and prosper?" He paused, and she could feel his eyes on the side of her face, before he added in a quieter, softer voice. "To have such life, such beauty just out of your reach …"

"It's amazing, Damon," she replied simply, not bothering to hide the wonder in her voice. If she was being honest with herself, she'd given up on playing the calm, cool and collected tourist fifteen minutes into their drive up the coast. This one day she'd allowed herself to enjoy life, this new city and the man beside her. The man who'd made this day happen. Deciding that she'd sat on her hands too many times in her life already, Elena reached over, taking Damon's hand in hers as she looked up at him with a wide, genuine smile. "This whole day has been amazing. Thank you."

* * *

"This is your manhood on the line, bro… You ready?" Stefan asked, staring at him seriously and grabbing his shoulders like a cornerman pumping up a prizefighter.

"Ready him all you want," the blonde bane of Damon's existence chirped from three seats away. "My girl here is gonna kick his ass."

Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, Damon put on his game face and turned back around to meet his doe-eyed challenger.

"The rules are simple," explained the sandy-haired man sitting between them, a beer in one hand and an orange rally rag in the other. "I'll ask the questions, and we'll see who answers the most first. Got it?"

"Yep," Damon nodded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, staring down his opponent. "Let's do this."

"Bring it," Elena replied, her eyes alight with mirth, as she assumed a similar position.

This whole thing had been her idea. A battle of the sexes stat-off. The entire way back from Alcatraz, she'd stood by the ferry rail, bouncing on her toes with anticipation as they'd drifted closer and closer to the mainland. Damon had tried to tell her bits of trivia about AT&T Park, but she'd cut him off every time, finishing his sentences for him. Apparently, one of the few concessions to fun Elena Gilbert had made in the past ten years was a post-bar exam tour of America's baseball parks, only she hadn't made it this far west.

When he'd teased that she probably knew more about the stadium itself than what actually went on inside the park, her eyes had flashed defiantly. Of course he'd only been joking, having seen her respectable fantasy line-up on her iPad just the other night, but he hadn't been able to resist goading her. Stepping away from the rail, she'd come to stand directly in front of him, their gazes locked as she poked an angry finger at his chest. "You're on," she'd growled, and that dangerous, sexy-as-hell glint in her eye – the same one shining there now – was totally worth whatever fate was about to befall him.

"God, Ric," Caroline groaned impatiently from Elena's other side. "Just ask the damn question already."

Taking a parting swallow of his beer, Ric set the bottle down between his feet and waved the rally rag between them, signaling the start of the match. "Current leader in on base percentage?"

"Cabrera," they answered simultaneously. "Gimme," Damon mouthed at her, to which she rolled her eyes.

"How many hits does he have?"

"118." Again, together.

"Pitcher with the most strike outs?"

"Yu Darvish." Two voices, though Damon noted Elena's had a certain extra hint of distaste to it. He remembered seeing Darvish on her fantasy team's bench. She was probably still bitter about that perfect game he'd blown in the eighth a couple of months back.

Several more softballs later, Damon tore his gaze from Elena's and turned to their referee. "This is child's play, Ric. Dig deeper."

"Fine," the other man snipped, and Damon saw him glance out at the field, his eyes zeroing in on the pitcher. Ric couldn't have telegraphed the next line of questioning any more obviously.

Their answers came as rapidly as the questions, always together.

"Perfect games?"

"Twenty-three."

"Season with the most perfect games?"

"2012."

"How -"

"Three," they answered, the both of them anticipating the question.

The first sign of possible trouble came when Ric asked who had the most strikeouts in a perfect game. He answered Cain. She answered Koufax. Stefan slapped him on the back with a hoot and Caroline squealed, each of their respective cheerleaders thinking that victory was within their grasp. It was all for naught though, and Elena knew it just as surely as him. Letting his hardened game face slip for a moment, Damon gave her a crooked smile, as they both confirmed what any stat-junkie would know, "Tied."

Sitting back in his seat, Damon's half-smile turned into a mischievous grin. "You wanna kick this up a notch?"

Folding her arms over her chest and crossing her legs, Elena tapped her swinging foot on the empty seat a row below. "What do you have in mind?"

"I suggest we ditch the boring stat guy," he whispered conspiratorially, jutting his thumb at Ric, who huffed and threw a handful of peanut shells at him. Brushing them off, Damon leaned forward and motioned a finger back and forth between him and Elena. "_We_ ask the questions. See who can stump the other first …"

She was nodding and eyeing him wickedly before he even finished making his proposal. Damon couldn't remember the last time he'd been so turned on. The swell of desire that he'd felt earlier when she'd let out that little moan at Brenda's was nothing compared to the effect her fiery brown eyes were having on him now.

"I'm getting out of the middle of this," Ric muttered, standing and kicking Damon in the shin, snapping him out of his lustful daze. Welcoming the chance to adjust his increasingly restrictive jeans, Damon stood and switched seats with Ric, settling himself next to the brown-haired temptress.

"Damon, are you sure?" Stefan cautioned from two seats away.

"Zip it, Steffy," he replied, dismissively waving his brother off. "I got this."

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "Cocky much?"

"Oh, very much, Barbie, but you chose the other brother," he smirked, mockingly blowing her a kiss before turning his attention back to Elena. "Hit me with your best shot, Gilbert."

Fifteen minutes later he was eating his words. He'd been firing Giants questions at her and she'd been hitting him back with trivia about the Braves – the team she'd grown up watching. But then Elena asked who had the most unhittable pitch among active pitchers.

"Strasberg," he answered immediately.

Suddenly, Elena's eyes grew wide and one side of her mouth quirked up. "Wrong," she declared, and their little peanut gallery went wild – Caroline ecstatically waving an orange pompom, Ric calling him an idiot, and Stefan demanding proof on his behalf.

Digging into her pocket, Elena pulled out her iPhone, tapped the screen a few times, and then handed it to him, before leaning back in her seat and high-fiving Caroline. Damon briefly scanned the ESPN Insider article she'd pulled up before passing the phone over his shoulder to Ric and Stefan.

"Kershaw," Damon grumbled. That fucking Dodger had given him heartburn enough times already as a Giants fan, and now he'd lost a bet because of him. A sport bet. To a girl. Over a fucking curveball, of all things.

"Fucking Kershaw," Stefan echoed behind him, before reaching in front of him and Ric to hand the phone back to Elena.

"So what do I get for winning?" Elena asked, pocketing her phone and pinning him with her big brown eyes.

"What do you want?" Damon replied suggestively, waggling his eyebrows and laying an arm across the back of her seat.

Her eyes darted to his lips, a bright red blush flooding her cheeks, and Damon cursed his jeans again for not being more forgiving. But then her eyes glanced past him to the patrons several seats away in the row behind him, and the same child-like wonder that had filled her eyes at the Conservatory was lighting them up again. Twisting in his seat, he followed her line of sight to the twelve-year-old boy eating a Ghirardelli hot fudge sundae.

"I want that," she whispered hotly in his ear.

Jumping at her sudden nearness, Damon sucked in a sharp breath as heat flooded from his ear, down his neck and raced south, along with the rest of the blood in his body. He'd known this woman for less than a week, and he was beginning to think she'd be the death of him. Jerking back around, he leveled her with an incredulous glare. "How can you possibly eat anything else? You've already put away a crab sandwich, garlic fries, two shots of Maker's, and a box of Cracker Jack."

"I. Want. A. Sundae," Elena demanded, each word punctuated with a sharp jab of her index finger to his chest.

Caroline's face appeared over Elena's shoulder. "Do not get between a woman and her chocolate, Salvatore."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Stefan chuckled.

"Alright, alright, but no grumbling tomorrow at work when this bites you in the ass," Damon warned, pointing his own finger back at Elena.

"Hey, you were the one that told me to live a little …" she reminded him with a wink.

"Kicking myself," he said, rolling his eyes playfully as he swiftly stood and scooted past Ric and Stefan before she could land a retaliatory punch.

Damon was up the stairs and entering the club level concourse when Ric caught up to him, apparently having followed him out of the stands. "So, I take it you two worked out whatever was going on Friday?"

"Wouldn't be here if we hadn't," Damon replied, briefly glancing over at his best friend as they wove through the crowds toward the Ghirardelli stand at the other end of the club level.

"She's really come out of her shell," Ric observed.

"Amazing what a day off will do," Damon said, his mind flashing back to that indelible image of Elena, dressed in a Giants hoodie, jeans and a pair of converse sneakers, twirling with her arms wide open amongst the butterflies in the Conservatory. It was the furthest thing possible from the uptight, designer suit, power-hungry associate he'd met earlier in the week. Casual and carefree was a much better look on Elena. Not that those tight, black pencil skirts of hers were a bad thing, he mentally added, smirking at himself.

"According to Caroline, you were the one that made that happen," Ric said, shooting him a knowing smile as they stepped into line at the stand.

Damon shrugged. "I just wanted to show her a good time."

"Oh, is that all?"

"What are you implying, Ric?"

His best friend's hand on his shoulder forced him to turn and meet Ric's serious expression. "Just be careful, Damon. She's only here for the summer."

"I know," he nodded solemnly, taking the sundae from the server and heading back down the concourse. Damon really didn't want to think about Elena leaving, not when he was just getting to know her, just beginning to see what was hidden beneath all that ice. There was definitely more to her than the Ice Queen persona, and after today, he found himself feeling decidedly exploratory. He wanted to know more about the real Elena, and it pained him to think about the vibrant girl he'd spent the day with being stuffed back into her power-suit and emotionless façade.

Silently resolving to enjoy the short time he had with her, Damon snagged the cherry off the top of the sundae and popped it into his mouth, before turning to Ric with an evil grin. "Better make the most of it then."

"She's gonna kill you for that," Ric laughed, making a pit stop at the bar to grab them another round of bourbon.

Ric had been nearly right. Shuffling back down their row, he found Stefan and Caroline cozied together and Elena looking up at him expectantly. When he offered her the cherry-less sundae, she protested mightily, demanding he take it back and bring her a proper sundae, until the one in her hands began to melt over the lip of the cup and onto her fingers. Licking them off, she made that god-forsaken moan again, and Damon tossed back the entire glass of bourbon Ric had handed him moments before. Even the silly orange panda hat she'd donned during his absence did nothing to quell his growing attraction.

The break after the top of the eighth inning didn't help matters either. Damon had been to AT&T Park hundreds of times, and in all those previous visits, the Kiss Cam had never landed on him or anyone else in his party. One unwilling pair of teens and an amorous old couple later, Stefan and Caroline's picture appeared on the huge outfield scoreboard and the lovebirds to Elena's left were more than happy to challenge said old couple for the title of most disgusting display of PDA ever. But then, to his horror, the camera panned over and his and Elena's shocked faces were staring back at him in thirty-two feet of high-definition glory. The crowd, as it was prone to do, booed at their reluctance, and when he turned to face Elena, he found her looking at him with eyes as big as saucers. She sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, nervously nibbling at it, and Damon's control snapped.

Lifting his arm that had been resting on her seatback, Damon curled his hand around the back of her neck, pushing her forward and bringing them nose to nose, before swiftly closing the gap between them. Damon vaguely registered the crowd roaring their approval as he lost himself in Elena. The press of her lips against his, the faint taste of dark chocolate and vanilla ice cream lingering from her sundae. The way she held her breath and then let it out in a single whoosh as she began moving her mouth against his. The heat he felt bloom beneath his palm at the back of her neck before his fingers twisted in her silky hair.

As another round of boos reached Damon's ears a few seconds later, he realized the camera had moved on. Slowly pulling apart, he let his hand slip out of Elena's hair and rest against her upper back, waiting for her eyes to open. When they did, molten brown met stormy blue, and there was a small, shy smile playing at the corners of Elena's mouth.

Using his hand against her back, he titled her forward again so he could whisper in her ear. "My manhood had been called into question enough times tonight, don't you think?"

To his immense relief, she laughed out loud, eyes sparkling at him, before she settled back into her seat, snuggling into the arm he'd draped across the top of it, not caring about the curious glances of Damon's brother and Ric and Caroline's knowing grins.

A dozen pitches and several heated glances later, the game was over, and their group filed out of the stands with the rest of the fans. Grabbing Elena's hand, he told himself it was to keep her from getting lost in the droves of people as they made their way to the lot where he'd parked the car after Alcatraz. But as the crowd dwindled, neither of them showed any sign of letting go.

It was only when Caroline, who'd been walking ahead of them with Stefan and Ric, turned around, hands on her hips and demanding to know why exactly he'd parked in "bum-fuck", that Damon let go of Elena's hand, not wanting to give Barbie anymore ammunition. Rolling his eyes at Caroline, he told her she could shut it or walk the rest of the way up the hill to her apartment. Glancing down at her four-inch high platform sandals, she huffed a "Go to hell," before turning back around and walking the few more rows to the Camaro.

After dropping off Stefan and Caroline at her condo in Potrero and Ric at the pub, his apartment being on the floor above the restaurant, Elena reclaimed the front seat of the Camaro for the short ride over to her hotel.

"So, did AT&T Park live up to the hype?" Damon asked, glancing over at her.

"I loved it," she replied, shifting in her seat to turn toward him with a smile. "And those seats were perfect. I could see everything – the entire field of play, the Bay Bridge, the ships and sailboats coming in and out of the Bay. And the food, ohmigod, the food."

Laughing, Damon jabbed a finger at her belly. "Tell me tomorrow morning if you still feel that way, after the landfill you call a stomach realizes what all you've dumped into it today."

Elena grabbed his hand before he could pull it back, wrapping it in hers, as she drew circles on the back of it. "The food was amazing. The park was amazing. Your Giants, not so much," she teased, crinkling her eyes and scrunching up her nose. "But all in all, it was an amazing experience, just like everything else today."

"You're welcome," Damon said, pulling into a parking spot along the curb in front of her hotel. Opening his car door, he squeezed her hand before letting it go and stepping out. Walking around to the passenger side, he helped her out and then leaned his hip against the side of the car, keeping ahold of her hand.

"No one has ever done anything like this for me before," Elena said, her eyes staring up at him through her long, dark lashes.

"Thank you for giving me the opportunity," he said, smiling softly.

Elena diverted her gaze, a small frown creasing her brow. "Well, if I hadn't been such a bitch in the first place..."

"Hey," Damon started, pulling Elena closer and reaching his other hand out to hook a finger beneath her chin, lifting her eyes back to his. "I told you before that I understand. I know it's hard. Just promise me you'll try and tone it back tomorrow morning."

"I promise," she agreed, letting her eyes slip shut as she leaned into his palm, his hand having drifted up to her cheek. "And I meant what I said that night too. I'm sorry about the way that I acted."

Leaning forward, in much the same way as he'd done when they'd made their deal, he purred in her ear, "Apology accepted," before tilting back a fraction of an inch, watching desire darken her eyes and color her cheeks. But unlike the last time, he wasn't ready to walk away just yet. That one, chaste kiss at the ballpark was not enough; he wanted, needed, to taste her again.

Pulling her between him and the Camaro, Damon stepped closer, backing her up against the side of the car and pressing his body along hers. Elena gasped, her eyelids fluttering shut for a moment as his knee parted her thighs and both of his hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs softly stroking her cheeks. "Good thing we got that cleared up, before …"

"Before what?" she breathed, eyes blazing when they opened once more.

"Before I did this," he replied, his voice rough with need, as he crashed his mouth against hers.

This time there was no delayed reaction. Elena's lips moved firmly, confidently, kissing him back with an urgency that matched his own, and when Damon was the one to moan first, it was her tongue that plunged inside his mouth, sliding against his own. Her arms wound around his neck, one hand tangling in his hair, while the other dipped beneath the back collar of his shirt, scorching his skin as she clawed at his shoulders, struggling to hold herself up on weakening knees.

Damon pushed her more firmly against the car, giving her the support she needed, as his hands skirted down her body, fingers caressing the sides of her breasts and causing her to thrust her hips against his leg. He countered with his own hips, his length growing harder by the second, and there was no way she couldn't feel it pressing against her. When she groaned and bucked again, deliberately rubbing her center along his leg, desperately seeking friction, the heat and wetness were unmistakable, even through layers of denim, and Damon knew they were quickly approaching the line of public indecency.

Right on cue, a cat call of "You get it, stud," came from a passing car and another blew its horn at them.

Damon chuckled when he felt Elena's lips curve into a smile, as their desire-fueled haze began to clear. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers and placed his hands lightly on her hips.

"I better go," he whispered. "Before the cops show up."

Leaning back, she looked up at him with a smirk. "Wonder what Elijah would have to say about that."

Laughing out loud, Damon stepped back and offered her his arm. Looping hers through his, Elena took a moment to regain her balance on wobbly legs before walking with him to the side entry door. "Damon," he said, affecting a vaguely European accent and mocking Elijah's too-straight posture as he held the door open for her. "I said play nice, not maul the girl to death."

"Don't worry, stud," she winked, playfully slapping his ass before darting from his side and through the door. "Me and my supply of English Breakfast Tea will defend your honor."

"No more tea, ever," Damon called after her, watching as she sashayed down the hallway.

Turning at the corner to the main lobby, she looked back at him with that same wide, genuine smile she'd given him on the steps at Alcatraz. "Goodnight, Damon, and thanks again."

"My pleasure," he replied, waving his fingers goodbye before she disappeared into the lobby.

Heading back to the Camaro, Damon started it up and turned toward home, passing the lighted Pyramid on the way as his mind began planning for a war against his heart. Pleasing, promising thoughts and feelings from their day together were clashing with Ric's words about the temporary nature of Elena's stay, making him both excited and nervous for the day ahead. While he liked this new Elena very much, probably too much for his own good, Damon couldn't say for sure which version of her he was going to get tomorrow morning. For now, all he could do was hope that she'd keep her promise and they'd start fresh tomorrow. That they'd nail this deal for their client, like he knew they could if they worked together. And if they managed to have a little fun during the process, then he'd enjoy the hell out of every minute of it, while he still could.

* * *

_**What'd you think? And for those of you patiently awaiting a Four Tragedies update, I'm pleased to let you know that Chapter 2 is with the beta and will be coming soon!**_


	7. You Lied

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: **Much love to all of you readers for your continued encouragement, support and patience while I juggle two stories. Big thanks to Sandra (dutchtreat) for the inspiration and expert beta assistance and to Chelley (chellethebelle) for tirelessly reading draft after draft, scene by scene (on both stories). If you're not already reading Chelley's current WIP, _Rock Hard, Love Harder_, you're missing out on Damon at his angst-ridden, loveable, rocker best. In fact, Chapter 5 should be going up right about now too. Double your fun and check it out!

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 7 – You Lied**_

"Was it good?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Elena spotted her best friend standing in the doorway between their adjoining hotel rooms, dressed for the workday, save for her shoes, and hiding a cheeky grin behind her steaming cup of coffee.

"I don't want to talk about it," Elena answered curtly, turning back around to stare into her closet while sipping some much-needed caffeine from her own mug.

"That means it was good," Bonnie replied smugly, moving across the room to take her usual seat behind the desk, slinging her bare feet up on one corner and eyeing Elena bemusedly. "What about your closet has you so confused this morning?"

Stepping back from the wardrobe, Elena collapsed onto the edge of the bed with a defeated sigh, setting her mug on the bedside table and snuggling into the fluffy, terrycloth bathrobe wrapped tightly around her. "I don't know how to do this, Bonnie."

"How to do what?"

"Not be uptight," Elena mumbled.

Spluttering with shock, coffee spewed uncontrollably from Bonnie's lips, flying across the desk and dripping down her chin, staining papers and her sweater. "Shit, I'm sorry for laughing, Elena," she wheezed between fits of giggles, grabbing handfuls of tissues from the box on the desk to wipe up the mess.

"Don't be sorry," Elena chuckled, getting up from the bed and helping with the clean up effort. "It's ridiculous. I'm uptight about trying _not_ to be uptight, all because of a guy."

"So, it was _really_ good then," Bonnie grinned.

"Yeah," Elena scoffed, tossing a coffee-soaked pile of tissues into the wastebasket before returning to her closet, staring blindly at her clothing options as her mind drifted back to the previous day.

_Good_ was an understatement. The whole day had been amazing – from the Coast, to San Francisco, to the game at AT&T Park. But all of that had paled in comparison to the mere minutes she'd spent becoming intimately acquainted with Damon Salvatore's lips. Their first kiss had been a surprise, circumstances dictating the situation, but nothing about it had felt forced. It'd felt natural, easy almost, as her lips had moved gently against his and warmth had coursed through her body, concentrating in the spot behind her neck where he'd curled his hand.

She'd spent the rest of the game nestled between his side and his arm that was stretched across the back of her seat, his fingers absently drawing patterns on her shoulder through her fleece, while she'd silently obsessed over kissing him again. Thankfully, he hadn't disappointed, giving her a searing goodnight kiss - and a little more - when he'd dropped her off at the hotel after the game. And despite all of the warning bells ringing loudly in her head – the doubts and what-ifs that had kept her up half the night – the preoccupation with kissing him again was still at the forefront of her mind.

Looking over at her smirking best friend, Elena let her arms flop to her side as she gave Bonnie her best woe-is-me face. "Help a girl out, please."

Rolling her eyes teasingly, Bonnie finished cleaning herself off before joining Elena in front of the closet and slinging an arm over her shoulders. "Okay, step one, ditch the pantyhose. No one wears them here."

Smiling, Elena kicked the stack of red Spanx boxes to the back of the closet. "I can live with that. Next?"

"And the suit coats," Bonnie said, clutching her shoulder tighter, no doubt restraining her inevitable objection.

Elena glared at her with narrowed eyes. "Seriously?"

"Other than for client meetings, have you seen anyone – male or female, besides Elijah – wearing one in the office here?"

"No," Elena grumbled.

"Exactly! It's 2013, not even Jessica Pearson wears boring suit jackets like those anymore," Bonnie joked, pushing Elena forward into the closet. "Now, dig out your tightest pencil skirt and a blouse, and we'll go from there."

"You watch too much TV, and attorneys in real life don't dress like that, you know," she groused, but followed her friend's orders nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes later, Elena was dressed in her tightest black pencil skirt, sans pantyhose, and a light pink blouse. Bonnie had rolled up the sleeves to her elbows and unbuttoned the collar a couple of holes lower than usual, giving anyone standing close enough a liberal glimpse of her cleavage. Her friend was attempting to more casually style her hair, pulling her long, brown locks into a loose bun behind her neck, when Elena caught Bonnie's eye in the dressing mirror.

"Thank you for this," she said, sincerely.

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with appreciation and a touch of amusement. "You really like him, don't you?"

"More than I should," Elena mumbled, looking down and fiddling with the buttons of her shirt, trying to refasten them one notch higher, as the confusing thoughts that had nagged her overnight surfaced once more.

"Why do you say that?" Bonnie asked softly, slapping her hand away from the buttons.

"We're only here for six weeks," Elena answered, diverting her gaze and stepping away from the mirror. Sinking back down onto the edge of the bed, she retrieved her mug from the bedside table and took a long swallow of lukewarm coffee before continuing. "Then I go home to New York and he stays here in California. It can't go anywhere in the long run."

"Why not?" Bonnie said, setting down beside her. "Plenty of people make long distance relationships work."

"And I'm not one of them," Elena replied, side-eying her friend as she used her free hand to close the button she'd been after. "You know that as well as I do."

"Matt was a lifetime ago, Elena."

Blinking back unexpected tears, Elena carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes, not wanting to ruin her make up. "Still feel likes it was yesterday sometimes. And I need to focus on making partner."

"Partner is just a title, Elena," Bonnie said, taking the coffee cup out of her hands and setting it back on the table. "It doesn't have to be your whole life."

"But -" she started, before Bonnie grabbed both of her hands and forced her to meet her serious green eyes.

"Elena, I know things are tough for you, with your family and with your relationship history, and it's perfectly fine if you don't want anything serious to come out of this thing with Damon, but why not have a little fun these next six weeks."

"Do you really think there's going to be time for that?" Elena asked, raising a dubious eyebrow.

Rolling her eyes, Bonnie stood from the bed and walked toward her room, turning around in the doorway with a mischievous smirk. "I know it's going to be mostly work and very little play, but if you gotta have fun with someone, he ain't a half bad playmate."

"Bonnie!" Elena gasped, standing and chucking a pillow in her direction. "I'm beginning to worry about my little brother's virtue when it comes to you."

"Oh sweetie, I corrupted that boy a long time ago."

"Earmuffs! I don't want to hear anymore," Elena groaned, covering her ears with her hands and watching her laughing best friend disappear into the other room.

Turning, Elena's eyes swept over her reflection in the dressing mirror, allowing herself a satisfied smile before she bent over to pull out a pair of heels. Something orange at the bottom of the closet caught her eye. Reaching out toward her Chucks, her hand closed around the plush orange panda hat sitting atop them. She closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the best part of the night before – her body pressed between Damon's and his Camaro, his lips hungrily attacking hers, his hands teasing her body, his denim-clad thigh providing friction exactly where she'd needed it most.

_Maybe Bonnie was right_, she thought. Her body obviously wanted Damon, and as long as her mind was strong enough to keep her heart out of it, to stay focused on the deal and making partner, then maybe she could have a little fun on the side too.

Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, Elena tossed the orange panda hat back onto her shoes and straightened up, determinedly staring herself down in the mirror. Bringing her hands up to her shirt, she undid the button she'd just closed, spread her collar a little wider and slipped on the highest pair of heels in her closet.

Grabbing her briefcase and purse from where they sat beside the bed, she headed for the door, Damon's words from their first meeting echoing in her mind as she pulled it shut behind her.

_Let's do this. _

* * *

Walking into her office, Elena was surprised to find a cup of coffee waiting in the middle of her desk. Moving aside her chair and dropping her bags, she reached for the coffee and saw a folded piece of paper underneath it. Lifting the still warm cup to her lips, she took a careful swallow of the drink that she immediately recognized by taste as a latte from Peet's – Damon's caffeine purveyor of choice – before picking up and unfolding the note.

_E –_

_I know this is better than whatever Mr. Coffee brewed in your hotel room this morning. And I had to make sure you didn't resort to tea …_

_Out of the office at a closing with Elijah. Back in a few hours. Lunch?_

– _D_

Smiling, Elena lowered herself into her desk chair, tracing his words with her thumbnail as she read the note over several times. She was disappointed not to see him this morning, but her mind was already racing with possibilities for lunch. Her cheeks flushed and her heartbeat quickened at the thought of another kiss – maybe in the elevator, or in one of the alleyways across from the building, or in her hotel room where they wouldn't be interrupted – before she mentally hit the brakes, reigning in her embarrassingly teen-like hormones.

Shaking her head, Elena folded the note and tucked it in her purse while waiting for her computer to boot up. They weren't expecting comments back from their client on the agreement they'd circulated Saturday until later tonight or tomorrow morning, so she was taking advantage of the lull in their deal to catch up on her other work.

She'd made a significant dent in the backlog by the time Liz and Bonnie poked their heads in around twelve-thirty, asking if she wanted to join them for lunch, but she waved them off, telling them she had lunch plans with Damon already. The both of them grinned knowingly, and Elena was sure that Caroline had filled her mother in on at least some of what had transpired yesterday.

By one o'clock, though, Elena was starting to regret turning them down as Damon and Elijah still hadn't returned from their closing. She had all but given up on their lunch plans, her cursor hovering over the 'Submit Order' button for take-out from the deli next door, when she finally heard Damon and Elijah's voices echo down the hallway. Elena paused and listened for where they were headed, unable to stop a smile from spreading across her face as they approached her office. But then they carried on past her corner and down the hallway toward Damon's office. Slouching in her chair with a huff, Elena impatiently tapped her nails against her desk and watched the minutes continue to tick by.

A respectable fifteen later, Elena and her growling stomach wandered down the hall toward Damon's office, ducking into Bonnie's when she saw his closed door. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop – she was just writing Bonnie a note that she'd gone to grab a bite – but then she heard her name through the paper-thin walls. Taking a seat behind Bonnie's desk, Elena leaned closer to the shared wall with Damon's office.

"So tell me, how are things going on the Shaw deal with Elena?" Elijah asked.

"Fine," Damon answered, and Elena frowned at the short tone of his voice.

"Liz told me about your little tiff on Friday. I was worried that we might have a problem."

"Nope," Damon replied. "Like I said, we're fine. Got the document off to Shaw's in-house counsel on Saturday, ahead of schedule."

"That's good," Elijah said. "What changed?"

Holding her breath, Elena anxiously awaited Damon's response, eager to know how much he'd disclose to their boss about the weekend they'd spent together, working and otherwise. Benton Pryce didn't have an anti-fraternization policy – no law firm really did, otherwise the legal practice would grind to a screeching halt – but inter-office relationships still had to be handled discreetly.

_Not that there was much of anything to flaunt_, she corrected herself. _Yet._

"It was something Mason said Friday night actually, after the blow up," Damon started, and Elena leaned even closer to the wall, uncertain where this was headed. "He told me to get ahead of her …"

Having heard quite enough, Elena was instantly out of the chair and standing in front of Damon's closed door, fuming, with her fist raised to knock. The next second she was running down the hallway to her office, her eyes filling with tears. In all of the doubts and what-ifs she'd contemplated last night and this morning, the possibility that it'd all been a ruse for Damon – _a means of getting ahead_ – had never crossed her mind. If anything, he'd seemed honest and hard working, a straight shooter. Maybe that New York attitude hadn't been completely banished from his system after all.

_Fuck! How could I have been so stupid?_ Elena cursed herself, pacing around her office and raking her hands through her hair, violently ripping out the rubber band that held it up in a bun. Swiping at the tears that had escaped down her cheeks, Elena took several gasping breaths before her eyes settled on her desk and the now empty coffee cup Damon had left for her that morning. All part of his master plan to get ahead, no doubt. Seething, she angrily batted it off of her desk, sending it flying across the room to land in a corner, and as another wave of tears worked their way up her throat, she quickly decided that she had to get out of there before she made an even bigger fool of herself. She undocked her laptop, stowed it in her briefcase and hurried to the elevators, thankful that most of the secretarial staff was still at lunch.

On the walk back to her hotel, Elena's fury steadily grew, drying her tears. She tapped out a quick text message to Bonnie to let her know that she would be working the rest of the afternoon from her room. She couldn't be around Damon, couldn't be sure what she might say or do. And she needed time to talk her heart out of what might have been and her mind back into her own strategy for getting ahead. She'd be damned if she let Damon Salvatore beat her at her own game.

* * *

Checking his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, Damon was becoming increasingly concerned over Elena's whereabouts. They had a call scheduled with Shaw at nine to go over their comments to the agreement, and she still wasn't in yet. He'd even shown up two hours early, lattes in hand, to go over their draft in preparation for the call, figuring she would be doing the same, but her corner office was dark then, same as it was now, fifteen minutes before their scheduled call. Something was off, and that sinking feeling in his stomach that had started yesterday afternoon when he'd found her office empty, began to grow even heavier.

After he'd gotten out of his meeting with Elijah and found her discarded Peet's cup lying in the corner, he'd jokingly texted her that he hadn't thought the coffee was that bad, offering to bring her a better brew with dinner. When she hadn't responded in her customary two-minute window, he'd popped his head into the office next door. According to Bonnie, Elena had gone back to the hotel to get some work done on other matters. Damon hadn't bought that for a second. Elena was not the work-from-home sort of girl. Determined to find out what was really going on, he'd pocketed his phone and wallet and had just been about to leave when Liz slipped into his office, shutting the door behind her.

"Where are you going?" she'd asked.

"Out," he'd replied, attempting to keep his tone nonchalant. "Just taking a stroll."

"You're lying, Damon Salvatore," she'd said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Ten to one you're on your way over to the hotel to talk to Elena. Am I right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he'd replied cheekily.

"Damon," Liz had scolded, before lowering her voice to continue. "The receptionist said she saw Elena leave right after you and Elijah got back. And that she looked like she was crying."

"What the hell?" he'd whispered harshly, his anxiety doubling. Pulling out his phone, he'd sent Elena another message. _Are you okay? I'm on my way over._

_No,_ had come the response almost immediately. _I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning._

Neither Liz nor Bonnie had been able to tell him anything further, but the both of them had cautioned him against going over there, suggesting that he give Elena some space for whatever she was dealing with. Heeding their advice, he'd slumped back into his desk chair and sent her another text.

_Ok, but if you need anything, call or text me._

Damon had been occupied the rest of the afternoon with processing the closing paperwork for the Powell Street deal that he and Elijah had wrapped that morning, but it hadn't stopped him from checking his phone every thirty minutes for a response from Elena. After work, he'd gone to the pub with Mason, attempting to drown out the fact that he missed a woman he'd known for less than a week with his best bourbon. He'd been on his third, maybe fourth, glass when a reply text from her had finally come through at around eight.

_Call tomorrow morning at nine with Shaw's General Counsel to discuss the agreement._

He hadn't stopped to think – had just pressed the 'Call' button immediately – because all his bourbon-soaked heart had wanted in that moment was to hear her voice. But her voicemail greeting had been the best he'd gotten. He'd savored those ten seconds but they were nothing compared to the hours he'd spent with her over the weekend. He'd left a brief message, apologizing for the delay in getting back from the closing and letting her know that he'd be there for the call in the morning.

But now she wasn't. Nine o'clock had come and gone with no sign of Elena and he'd been greeted with nothing but silence on the conference call line. _What the fuck was going on?_ Getting no response to his follow up texts and emails, Damon stood behind his desk and took a deep calming breath before opening his door and peering into the office next door. Bonnie's lights were still off too. Grabbing his mug, Damon walked down the hallway to the break room, filling his cup with fresh coffee as his mind conjured up worst-case scenarios.

_What if she'd gotten sick? What if she'd been mugged? What if something had happened to her brother?_

Damon didn't know much about Elena's family, but he knew she and Jeremy were then there was the matter of Shaw. What had she told the client? Given the elevator music he'd spent ten minutes listening to, he assumed she'd already rescheduled the call. Damon was a little peeved that she hadn't let him know, but if there'd been an emergency, he couldn't blame her for forgetting to copy him on an email. It was the only explanation that made sense, and his worry ratcheted up another notch upon reaching that conclusion. He had to go to the hotel, make sure she was all right. Guzzling his coffee as he walked back to his office, he formed his game plan. He'd shoot off a couple of quick emails, forward his office phone to his cell and pick up a fresh latte for her on the way over to the hotel.

That game plan, however, was shot to hell when Damon crossed the threshold of his office and saw a freshly marked up copy of their agreement sitting in the middle of his desk. Setting down his mug, worry quickly morphed into rage as he flipped through the pages, seeing her notes scribbled in red on each page. But the most infuriating comment of all was written in the upper right had corner of the front page – "E.G. Notes per 7.16 Client Call".

_What. The. Fuck?!_

"Elena's here," Liz's strained voice said from behind him.

"I can see that," he snapped, holding up the mark-up.

"Just shut the door behind you when you go in there. The whole office doesn't need to hear the blow up this time."

"Thanks," he grit out between clenched teeth, blowing past his assistant and storming down the hallway to Elena's office. Slamming the door behind him, he marched over to her desk and threw the mark-up down in the middle of it.

"What the hell is this?" he growled furiously, bracing his arms against the edge of the desk and leaning toward her, demanding that she meet his gaze.

"What does it look like?" she replied calmly, looking up at him as she folded her arms on the desk and tilted forward, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage beneath her lower than usual neckline. His traitorous eyes strayed for a moment before coming back to meet her defiant brown ones.

Stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest, Damon walked around the desk, boxing her in. "It looks like your back to pulling your old stunts."

"I don't know what you mean," she shrugged, swiveling in her chair to turn her back to him as she began scrolling through a document on her computer screen.

Grabbing the back of the chair, he spun her around to face him again. "Don't play dumb with me, Elena. You had the conference call with Shaw's General Counsel without me."

"I said the call was at nine," she answered, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other, placing her hands together on her knees.

"And I was here at nine, seven actually, and you weren't," he bit back.

"Oh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Did I fail to mention Eastern Time?"

"Seriously?!" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "That shit again?! I thought we talked about this. You promised."

"And you lied," she spat, shooting up from her chair to stand nose to nose with him, an angry finger poking him in the chest. "You set me up, asshole."

"Elena!" he gasped, shocked beyond belief by what she'd just said. He was at a complete and utter loss as to what might have caused this radical reversal in her behavior. Thirty-six hours ago they had been making out against the side of his car and now she was looking at him with cold, hateful eyes. Lifting an arm, he wrapped his hand around the one of hers that was still poking him in the chest, holding it tight when she tried to jerk away. "What the hell happened between Sunday night and now? I don't understand, Elena."

The last thing Damon expected were the tears that welled up in her eyes. She tried to turn her head away, but he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, keeping their gazes locked. "Tell me what happened and I'll fix it," he said softly, letting go of her chin to cup her cheek, brushing away a tear that had escaped.

"That's rich, Damon, coming from you," she scoffed, her voice thick with tears.

This time when she pulled away Damon let her go, furrowing his brow and staring at her back as she sniffled and wiped away her tears. He was so very confused. There was obviously some piece of the puzzle that he was missing, and for the life of him, he had no fucking clue what it might be.

Seconds later, there was a click and Damon heard the office door open behind them. "Is there a problem here?" came Elijah's deep voice, and Damon winced, remembering how hard he'd slammed the door and how loud his voice had been.

Turning before he could, Elena graced Elijah with a calm, pleasant smile. "No problem at all."

"Damon?" Elijah prompted.

Taking a deep breath and schooling his features, Damon turned, calm face firmly in place, and nodded at his boss. "Fine, sir."

"Good," Elijah said, returning the nod before glancing past him to address Elena. "I have Tanner on the line to discuss those cross marketing opportunities you emailed us about yesterday."

"Great, I'll be right there," she smiled, stepping past Damon to see Elijah out of her office, before moving back behind her desk to grab a legal pad.

_Cross-marketing opportunities my ass_, Damon thought to himself. He knew what she was doing – connecting herself to as many partners, as many clients, as many billable hours as possible. Partnership was still priority number one for Elena Gilbert.

"You work fast," he said, scowling at her, as she picked up the mark-up he'd thrown down earlier and came to stand in front of him, her eyes cold and hard.

"So should you," she sneered, shoving the papers against his chest. "Let me know if you have any questions," she added condescendingly, speaking to him as if he were a junior associate. "Otherwise, revise and send it out to Lexi with my regards."

Damon stared after her in disbelief as she walked out of the office. He was angry, confused, hurt, and most of all, disappointed. He'd thought they'd gotten somewhere over the weekend, that their working relationship would be productive and that perhaps there might be another relationship to be had outside of the office.

And somehow, between then and now, he'd fucked up, or so she said. But a part of him also wondered if this phantom injustice that he'd done to her was just an excuse. Because it seemed pretty damn clear to him that partnership was _all_ that mattered to Elena Gilbert.

So much for living a little.

* * *

_**You didn't really think you were getting off angst-free now, did you ;) Hit review below and let me know your thoughts! Also, tiny little favor to ask… If your twitter and FFN usernames are different, it would be SO very much appreciated if you'd let me know in your review, so that I can be sure to address you personally in my reply and send you a thank you tweet. So embarrassed when I find out I am PM'ing with someone I already know on twitter rather well :P Thanks in advance!**_


	8. Seven Minutes

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: **Apologies for not replying to reviews after the last update. Between real life, beta duties and writing two stories, time got away from me. Please do know that each review, alert and favorite on this story and _Four Tragedies_ warms my heart, makes me smile and is so very much appreciated. I hope this update will be an adequate thank you card ;)

_Big thanks and applause also go out to Sandra (dutchtreat), Chelley (chellethebelle) and Kate (This Is My Escape) for their beta and pre-reading assistance. Each of these ladies is a very talented author who should also be on your favorite and alert lists!_

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 8 – Seven Minutes**_

"Good, you're all here."

Wiping her hands off on her chef's coat as she hurried from the back of the restaurant, Caroline lifted up the bar flip and strode behind the bar, leaning over the smooth wooden surface to give her mother a quick kiss on the cheek before smiling brightly at their other guest. Briefly taking her eyes off of the two women, she glanced up at Ric, who was stocking bottles on the top shelves. "Grab the Don Julio while you're up there."

"Honey, it's only one in the afternoon. Bonnie and I still have to go back to work."

"It's Friday, Mom," Caroline replied, hands on her hips and leaving no room for argument. "I'll make you coffee before you leave. Besides, I don't think Ric can handle this conversation _without_ alcohol."

"Definitely not," Ric agreed, stepping off of the ladder with the tall, slender bottle of top-shelf tequila in his hand.

Turning, Caroline opened the under-bar dishwasher and pulled out four shot glasses, lining them up on the bar for Ric to fill. She'd called them all here to discuss a very important matter, and as self-appointed chair of this ad hoc group, she'd direct it as she saw fit. And tequila was most definitely on her agenda.

Holding up her glass, Caroline waited for the rest of them to do the same. "I officially call this meeting of the Delena Support Group to order."

"The what?!" Ric sputtered, struggling to swallow his shot and not spit it across the bar.

"What part of 'we have to sort this Damon and Elena shit out' didn't you understand?" Caroline said, shooting him an annoyed glare over the rim of her shot glass just before tipping it back. "I thought you wanted to help fix this."

"I got that part, and I do," he said, pouring himself another shot – a double this time, Caroline noticed. "But 'Delena'?"

"Ship name," Bonnie chimed in, setting her empty glass down on the bar. "You combine a couple's individual names to come up with their relationship name. Like 'Caskett' for Castle and Beckett or 'Olicity' for Oliver and Felicity."

Ric looked back and forth between her and Bonnie, seeming genuinely dumbfounded. "Who're those people?" he asked, before downing his double shot.

"Castle, Arrow, popular TV shows. I swear to God," Caroline bemoaned. "You live under a fucking rock."

"She even has a name for you and Damon," Liz added with a sly grin, wiping the tequila from her lips.

"Do I even want to know?" Ric grimaced, as he gathered their glasses and piled them in the bar sink.

"Dalaric," Bonnie correctly guessed, her olive green eyes twinkling with amusement, as Ric hung his head in defeat.

Laughing, Caroline reached an outstretched palm over the bar, high-fiving the other woman. She'd only spent a few hours with Elena's best friend since they'd arrived in town, but Caroline had instantly taken a liking to Bonnie and her mother was practically ready to adopt her as a second daughter. Caroline just hoped that her instincts were right about bringing the newbie in on this particular mission.

"So, Damon and Elena," Caroline said, bringing them back on topic, as her eyes shifted between her mother and Bonnie. "What the hell went wrong? Because we're at a loss," she continued, motioning with a hand between herself and Ric. "How'd they go from unable to take their eyes off of one another on Sunday to unable to be in the same room with each other now?"

"I've been trying to figure that out," her mom replied, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the bar. "Damon came into the office on Monday morning, obnoxiously chipper, and left a cup of coffee and a note on her desk. And before he left with Elijah, he asked me to make a lunch reservation for two at Boulevard and clear his calendar for the rest of the afternoon. I know he and Elijah were late getting back from their closing that morning, but this can't just be about a missed lunch date."

Furrowing her brow, Caroline looked over at Bonnie questioningly.

"I don't know much more," the paralegal shrugged. "Elena was full speed ahead on Monday morning. She even changed up her wardrobe to impress him, but by the time Liz and I got back from lunch that day, she'd already gone back to her hotel room. The next morning, they were at each other's throats again."

"And she didn't say _anything_ else to you?" Caroline probed further, narrowing her eyes when Bonnie averted her gaze. "I know she's your best friend, Bonnie, but Damon's been sulking here, alone, every night this week. Whatever's going on, it's really bothering him."

In fact, Caroline couldn't remember another time when she'd seen Damon this hung up over something. He wasn't one to dwell on things. A half bottle of bourbon, a morning out on the waves or an hour tossing around the football with Ric or Stefan was usually all that it took for Damon to work out whatever was nagging him and move on. But none of those things had worked this time, and they'd tried them all. One more day of moping, snarkless, not inappropriately flirting Damon, and Caroline was going to pull her hair out. It just wasn't the natural order of things in her universe.

"Bon-," she started to plead, but Ric's hand on her shoulder stopped her short.

"She said that he lied," Bonnie mumbled, staring down at the bar top as she idly twirled a cocktail straw between her fingers. "She thinks that it was all an act to get ahead of her on this deal and for partnership."

If Bonnie had been there on Sunday, Caroline knew that she too would dismiss such a notion as downright preposterous. Everything that Caroline had seen and heard at the beach house and at the game – from the story of how Damon had made their tour day happen, to their impromptu kiss and poorly hidden hand holding, and, most telling of all, Damon's adoring, hungry eyes – would lead anyone with half a brain to a very different conclusion regarding his intentions toward Elena. Taking a step forward, Caroline was just about to enlighten Bonnie as to the things she'd witnessed when Ric's hand, still on her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze.

'I got this' he silently mouthed, before pushing off of the bar sink and coming to stand directly across from the woman they needed to convince of their friend's virtue.

"Bonnie," Ric began, drawing her green eyes up to his blue ones. "There are a couple of things wrong with that theory. One," he said, tapping a single finger against the bar top, "I taught Damon the value of a fair fight a long time ago, so I highly doubt he'd do something like that. And two," he continued, tapping a second finger, "I've never seen him more smitten. I've known him for over fifteen years, Bonnie, and I'm certain that it's not an act."

"It must be some sort of misunderstanding," Liz offered. "But if they've resorted to sending messages to each other through me, how are we going to get them to talk about it?"

A plan already forming in her mind, Caroline couldn't suppress the grin turning up the corners of her mouth.

"What're you smirking at?" Ric asked, his voice a mix of humor, curiosity and a healthy dose of trepidation. _Good_, she thought to herself. She liked keeping all of her boys on their toes.

Sucking in a deep breath, Caroline turned to Bonnie. This was the moment of truth. Was Elena's best friend in or out? The success of Mission Delena depended on it.

"What do you need me to do?" the paralegal finally responded with a heavy sigh, and Caroline expelled her held breath with such an audible whoosh that all of them burst into laughter.

"Just get her here after work tonight," Caroline grinned, pulling her phone out of her back pocket and texting Stefan. "I'll take care of the rest."

"When they trash my bar," Ric warned, wagging a finger at Caroline, "It's coming out of your share next month."

Rolling her eyes and waving him off, Caroline smiled broadly as she started up the espresso machine, preparing the coffee she'd promised her mom and Bonnie. "Don't you worry that silly little head of yours. I've got it all under control."

And for the first time all week, Caroline finally believed that she did.

* * *

_MISSION DELENA IS A GO_

Reading the silly text message for the umpteenth time during the past hour, Bonnie still wasn't sure how she'd let the blonde brigade rope her into this. When she'd been at the pub earlier today, she'd honestly felt a little like Gaius Baltar surrounded by a bunch of Sixes – a reluctant patsy that would lead her charge to slaughter.

But then she'd thought back to her best friend's giddy nervousness on Monday morning. In the eight years since she'd met Elena, Bonnie had never seen her like that, never seen that sort of happy excitement in her usually too-serious eyes. And after Ric had argued the case for _his_ best friend, Bonnie had quickly considered every interaction that she'd had with Damon since arriving in San Francisco. While she knew that he was equally motivated to make partner, Damon had done nothing but try to work with them as a team for the past two weeks. Ric was right; Damon wouldn't do something as underhanded as Elena had accused. With a heavy sigh, she'd admitted to herself that it was more likely that Elena's skittish heart and too ambitious head had led her to jump to the wrong conclusion about something she'd accidentally overheard. So, she'd agreed to partake in this mission of Caroline's, even though she gave it a fifty-fifty shot at best. Elena knew how to dig her heels in better than anyone.

"Caroline said to remind you that she's got everything under control," came an unfamiliar voice from her doorway, snapping Bonnie out of her mental ramblings.

Looking up, she instantly recognized the owner of the voice from the pictures on Liz's phone and in her cubicle. "You must be Stefan," Bonnie greeted, standing and holding out a hand to the smiling man with spikey brown hair and light green eyes. "I've heard a lot about you.

"Should I worry that whatever you've heard is from my future mother-in-law?" he replied, stepping forward and shaking her hand.

"Nah, it seems that you're on her good side. For now."

"Hoping to keep it that way," he chuckled, bending his torso back to look down the hallway before tilting forward again and whispering conspiratorially. "Even if it involves getting wrapped up in her and Caroline's hair-brained matchmaking shenanigans."

"This is standard practice for them?" Bonnie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nodding, Stefan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against her doorframe. "They've been trying to set Damon up for years, and with the wedding coming up, they're obsessing over the guest list. Caroline wants everyone in the wedding party to have a date. Elena going all Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde threw a wrench into her plans."

"So, she's not just looking out for Damon's well-being?" Bonnie asked, more fully understanding Caroline's single-minded determination earlier in the day.

"God no," Stefan answered. "I'd call it fifty-fifty, at best."

"Funny," Bonnie chuckled. "I was just thinking that those are the odds of Damon and Elena ever speaking to each other again outside of work."

"Well, that's guaranteed to happen," Stefan said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Bonnie wondered if he wasn't enjoying this set-up more than a little too. "The fallout is what we have to worry about."

"What was that about fallout, I heard?" Damon interrupted, appearing in the doorway behind Stefan and clasping a firm hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I was just telling Bonnie that I'm going to have to suffer the fallout of putting you through another tux change," Stefan covered smoothly.

"Blondie can't make up her damn mind, can she?" Damon grumbled, disappearing from the doorway, and Bonnie could hear him shuffling around in his office next door, packing up his things and shutting down his computer.

"Of course not," Stefan shrugged, pushing off from the doorframe and shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited for his brother.

"That's our girl," Damon sighed, reappearing behind Stefan in the doorway as he put on his coat and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. "Well, come on then, let's get this torture over with." Peeking at her over Stefan's shoulder, Damon drew Bonnie's eyes up to his friendly blue ones. Whatever had happened between him and Elena, Damon had remained perfectly cordial with her. "Have a good weekend, Bonnie."

"Same to you, Damon," she replied with a parting nod. "And it was nice meeting you, Stefan."

"Likewise," the green-eyed man smiled, giving her a wink before turning and following his brother down the hallway and out to the lobby.

Less than a minute later, Bonnie recognized the familiar cadence of Elena's steps coming down the hallway, growing louder as her friend hastily approached.

"What was that all about?" Elena asked, flopping down in the guest chair across the desk from her.

Eyes focused on her screen, Bonnie made a few quick changes to the document she had open before clicking save and turning toward Elena. "Caroline has them changing tuxes again."

"Hmm," Elena mumbled, leaning back in the guest chair and picking at her nails as if she were suddenly disinterested. "Not my problem anymore."

"Maybe Damon is not, but Caroline still is," Bonnie said, taking her purse out of a desk drawer and setting it on her desk. "I got a text from her about an hour ago. She wants us to stop by the pub."

Elena's eyes shot up to hers, growing wide with alarm, as she slid forward to the edge of the chair. "Uh-uh, Bonnie, no freaking way. It's Friday night; he's definitely going to be there."

"I thought you didn't care?"

"I don't," Elena answered unconvincingly, looking down at her lap where Bonnie noticed she was wringing her hands.

"Right," Bonnie drawled, raising an eyebrow at Elena, before pulling a compact and tube of lipstick out of her purse. "Caroline said they wouldn't be by tonight. Something about Damon heading up to Napa with Stefan after they're done."

"And you believe her?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Bonnie lied, hopefully more convincingly than Elena. Turning her attention back to the compact mirror, Bonnie applied a fresh layer of lipstick and touched up her foundation in a couple of places. "Come one, Elena. It's been a rough week. I think we're due for a drink."

Elena relaxed, leaning back in the seat, and Bonnie knew that she had won. "Fine, but just one. We're supposed to be getting the next turn of documents from Lexi any time now."

"You are _such_ a party pooper," Bonnie groaned, snapping shut the compact and capping her lipstick, tossing them both back into her purse.

"In case you missed it, fun didn't really work out for me. So, I'm back to Elena Version 1.0."

"Then why are you still dressing that way?" Bonnie smirked.

Even after the blowup with Damon, Elena had stuck to some of the wardrobe changes they'd made earlier in the week – no pantyhose, shirts a little lower, skirts a little tighter and heels a little higher. Today being Friday, Elena had dressed in a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans, a scoop-necked silk shell, a tight fitting jacket and black high heel boots. Whether it was because Elena liked the added touch of sexiness or because she was trying to torture Damon, Bonnie couldn't say, but it did give her hope that maybe there was still a spark there that could make Caroline's plan work.

"Fine, Version 1.5," Elena chuckled, standing and turning toward the doorway. "Give me five to shut down and gather my things, and we'll head over."

"Sure thing, boss lady," Bonnie laughed, dropping her phone in her purse and slipping on her shoes as she shut down her computer. Taking a deep breath as she stood, Bonnie switched off her office lights and headed down the hallway to Elena's office, fiddling with her silver moon necklace and saying a silent prayer that the Sixes' Mission Delena wouldn't end in an apocalypse.

* * *

Sliding her glass across the bar, Elena looked up at Ric expectantly. "Another, please."

"You sure that's a good idea?" he asked, raising an eyebrow even as he uncorked the bottle of aged bourbon.

Elena knew that he had to ask. After all, she'd emptied three – maybe, four – glasses in the hour since she'd settled on her stool of choice at the less crowded end of the bar. But she had a good reason for her rapid consumption of Damon's prized bourbon. She needed all of the liquid courage she could get before the oncoming assault. And she knew it would piss him the hell off.

Leveling Ric with a knowing glare, she cocked a challenging brow right back at him. "Just preparing myself for when Damon shows up."

"He's not-"

"Save it, Ric," she cut him off, lifting Bonnie's phone from her lap and placing it face-up on the bar next to her glass, Caroline's text message open on the display screen.

Bonnie probably didn't even realize it, but ever since Jeremy had given her that silver half-moon necklace for her birthday last February, she would slide the charm along its chain whenever she was nervous or anxious. The minute they'd sat down at the bar, her friend's hand had taken hold of the half-moon, alerting Elena to the fact that this probably wasn't the girls night out that she'd been promised. So, when Bonnie had stepped away to speak with Liz, who was seated across the restaurant in a booth with Mason and a red-head she assumed was his girlfriend, Sage, Elena had slipped Bonnie's phone from her purse and found the text message from their new blonde best friend.

"For what it's worth, it wasn't my idea," Ric said, refilling her glass.

"I know," she smiled halfheartedly, tucking her friend's phone back into her purse.

"I wouldn't be doing my bartender duty if I didn't also ask if you wanted to talk about it."

"Duly noted, but I'm good, thanks," Elena replied, picking up the fresh glass of bourbon and tilting it toward him in a mock toast, before knocking back half of the pour. Nodding, Ric stepped away, leaving the bottle of Pappy in front of her while he tended to the other, crowded end of the bar.

Of course things were anything but good. Granted, she was still in Elijah's good graces and making in-roads with several other San Francisco partners, but it'd been a week of stilted, tension-filled interactions with Damon. A muttered greeting whenever they'd passed each other in the hallway, a mumbled apology as they'd dodged one another in the too narrow copy room, and dead silence, the both of them bowing their heads and pretending to be solely focused on their phones, when they'd found themselves alone in the elevator cab one afternoon. As for communication on the Shaw deal, that had been limited to terse emails and messages passed through Liz. Elena dreaded the awkwardness that would surely arise when the revised deal documents came back from Lexi, and they were forced to work directly together again. While Elena remained resolved to beat Damon at the getting ahead game, she still had the occasional moment of weakness when the memory of their two stolen kisses would leave her overheated and breathless. Avoiding him in the hope of preventing such moments wasn't going to be possible much longer.

"I hope you're planning to pay for that."

_And so it begins_, Elena internally groaned, taking a deep, calming breath, as Damon claimed Bonnie's vacant barstool beside her. Refusing to acknowledge his presence right away, she stared straight ahead, watching out of the corner of her eye as he reached over the bar and grabbed himself a glass. Uncorking the bottle Ric had left in front of her, Damon poured himself a generous two fingers worth before resealing it and setting it on the other side of him, out of her reach.

"I think you've had enough of my private stock for tonight," he said haughtily.

Finally glancing over at him, Elena rolled her eyes, hard, before stretching her arms out wide toward the shelves behind the bar. "There are at least two dozen other bourbons up there, Damon. I'm sure I'll manage."

"But none as good as mine," he quipped, leaning closer and waggling his eyebrows at her.

Caught off-guard by the suggestive undertone of his voice after a week of indifference, Elena considered him more closely. The flushed cheeks, the glassy eyes and the dilated pupils, together with the peaty smell of scotch that she now discerned in the space between them, were a dead give away. He and Stefan must have had a few drinks someplace else before coming here.

_Mutual assured destruction, here we come_, she thought to herself grimly.

Shrugging, Elena returned to staring down at her drink, picking it up after a few moments and downing the rest of it in one gulp. Holding up the empty glass, she signaled to Ric that she needed a refill.

"What'll it be?" he shouted from the other end of the bar.

"Four Roses," she answered, before turning on her stool to fully face Damon, unbuttoning her jacket and deliberately crossing her legs in his direction. "I don't need the best to get drunk. Halfway decent will do."

"Oh, that's right, it's Friday," Damon replied sarcastically, slapping his thigh as if he'd suddenly remembered some long-forgotten piece of information. "It's time for fun Elena to come out and play for a few days."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped caustically, her voice growing louder.

"Just that I'm not falling for it this time," he sneered, his voice going from mocking to scathing in an instant.

"_You're_ not falling for it," she responded shrilly, incensed that he would dare accuse her of being the shifty one when he'd been pulling the wool over her eyes from day one with his team player bullshit. "You have some nerve."

"Me?!" Damon barked loudly, eyes flaring wide, as his brows raced for his hairline. "You're the one that runs hot and cold at the drop of a fucking dime."

Fuming, Elena reached for her fresh glass of bourbon, fully intending to chuck its contents directly at Damon's smug face, but then a hand closed around her wrist, pinning it to the bar. Looking first at her hand and then up at the sandy-haired man holding it down, she furiously glared at Ric. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Waiting for reinforcements," he replied through gritted teeth.

Laughing derisively, Damon snatched away her glass and downed the bourbon himself. "This is _my_ bar, Elena. You didn't really think-"

Damon's taunt was interrupted when Caroline's pale, manicured hand came out of nowhere and whacked the backside of his head. "Wrong, asshole. This is our bar," the blonde said, her eyes alternating between him and Ric. Feeling the bartender's grip falter slightly, Elena jerked her wrist free and narrowed her eyes at Damon, ready for round two, but then Caroline stepped between them, grabbing them both by their upper arms and dragging them off of their stools.

"What're you doing?" Elena protested, unsuccessfully trying to wrench her arm free from the other woman's biting nails, as Caroline marched her and Damon toward the back of the restaurant.

Throwing open the last door before the exit, Caroline shoved them into what Elena quickly surmised was the pub's business office. The room was smaller than her hotel bathroom, just barely big enough for the sparse furnishings stuff inside of it – a metal filing cabinet, an old wooden desk and a low stool tucked underneath it. And their only path of escape was blocked by the angry blonde standing in the narrow doorway with her hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a female version of a blustering Gordon Ramsay. "Ric and I would like our bar to remain in one piece this evening, so I'm … what is it you lawyers call it …" Caroline trailed off, scrunching her eyes shut and snapping her fingers, as if trying to recall the word, until her eyes popped open again a second later. "Oh yeah, mitigating the damage. That's it!"

"You can't be serious, Barbie?" Damon scoffed, taking a step forward.

"I'm dead serious, Salvatore," Caroline bit back, matching his one step forward with three steps of her own, pushing him back against the edge of the desk as Elena flattened herself against the file cabinet. "You two," she began, pointing her finger first at Damon and then over at Elena, "Somehow got your wires crossed, and this misunderstanding is not going to sort itself out if all you do is argue and avoid each other. Now make it work," she ordered, giving Damon a two-handed shove to the chest, before turning on her heel and walking out of the office, slamming the door shut behind her. "You've got seven minutes," she shouted through the frosted glass pane in the top half of the door. "Your choice whether it's heaven or hell."

A moment later, Elena heard something being shoved through the door handle and when Damon tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge. "It won't open," he muttered.

"Move," she said, shoving him aside. After a couple of futile yanks, she let her arms flop to her side, defeated. "It won't open."

"Gee, is there an echo in here?" Damon snarked from where he sat leaning against the desk, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded across his chest.

Turning around, Elena leaned back against the door and mimicked his casually defensive stance. "Gee, is there an asshole in here?"

"Oh, now I'm the asshole?" he laughed harshly. "If I recall correctly, you're the one that kissed me and then screwed me over less than thirty-six hours later."

Elena was in his face before she realized she'd even moved. "I was just playing by your rules Damon."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he replied, bolting up from the desk and forcing her back a step, before they began to slowly circle each other in the tiny enclosed space.

"If you want to play this getting ahead game, Damon, I assure you that I'll win."

Eyes growing wide, Damon's breath caught as he abruptly stopped moving. "You overheard me and Elijah, didn't you?"

Elena averted her gaze for a second, silently confirming his suspicion, and in the next instant, he had her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her eyes back to his. "It's not what you think, Elena."

"I know what I heard, Damon," she replied crossly, shaking his hand off and turning her back to him, bracing her outstretched arms on the edge of the desk as she fought to reign in her racing heart. Their shouting match, the close quarters, the touch of his fingers against her skin and all of those glasses of bourbon she'd consumed were fueling tidal waves of conflicting desires within her. One part of her wanted to slug him while another wanted nothing more than to feel those perfect lips of his pressed against her own again.

"Well, you obviously didn't stay long enough to hear the part where I said I'd never be able to get ahead of you. That, in fact, I needed to catch up, and once I did pull even, that I thought we'd make a good team, if we'd focus our efforts on working together and not against each other."

Whipping around and staring at him open-mouthed, Elena struggled to find a response to the last words that she'd expected to come out of his mouth. Damon had paid her the ultimate compliment, to Elijah no less, and she'd unknowingly thrown it back in his face. He held her wide-eyed stare a moment longer before turning and resting his elbows on the top of the file cabinet, hanging his head in his hands.

_Fuck me!_ Elena cursed herself, realizing that she had royally screwed up. _She_ was the villain in this little merry-go-round of theirs, _again_, and Damon was just trapped on the ride, an unfortunate victim of her professional and personal insecurities. She had lived up to that terrible nickname that she knew people whispered behind her back. She – the Ice Queen – had done this, not Damon.

_Apologize Elena, right this second_, Bonnie's voice rang out in her head.

Approaching behind him, Elena gently laid a hand against the back of his shoulder, cringing when he jumped at the contact. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"Clearly."

"But I promise it won't happen again."

"The problem is," he began, turning around and grabbing her wrist, holding her hand away as if her touch had personally offended him. "Your promises don't mean much right now, Elena. You say you're sorry now – _again_ – but how do I know you're not just going to turn around and stab me in the back a third time. How am I supposed to trust you?"

"Shit," she muttered, closing her eyes to the betrayal swirling in his stormy blue ones. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," he snapped, letting go of her wrist and stepping over to the desk, gathering some loose papers that had been left out and roughly shoving them into a drawer.

Pacing back and forth across the tiny space, Elena plowed her fingers through her hair, desperately trying to think of a way out of this mess. She couldn't blame Damon for not believing her promises when all she'd done was undermine his trust in her from day one. What she really needed was to wipe the slate clean, to start over from their first meeting and tackle this deal as a team, just as he'd always aspired to do. Halting suddenly, she tilted her head, an idea coming to mind.

Before she could second-guess herself, Elena strode over to Damon, standing beside him and holding out her hand. "You must be Damon Salvatore," she greeted with a smile. "I'm Elena."

Staring at her curiously, Damon's eyes flickered back and forth between her hand and her face.

"Fresh start," she explained, her hand still hanging in mid-air. "And I'll prove that you can trust me this time."

Steadily holding her gaze, he kept her in suspense a few seconds longer, before finally lifting his arm and sliding his hand into hers, giving it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you, Elena."

"I've heard a lot of good things about you," she added genuinely. "I look forward to working with you."

"Likewise," Damon replied, a cautious half smile playing on his lips.

Lips that she still desperately wanted to kiss again, and when Damon's thumb swept across her knuckles, Elena realized that she'd been caught staring. But then she felt the pass of his thumb again, this time against her palm, before he shifted his hand in hers so that he could interlace their fingers. Eyes shooting up to his, Elena gasped at seeing that same desperation reflected back at her.

"How long do you think we've been in here?" Damon asked, his voice low and gravelly, the husky tone making her insides clench with desire.

"About five minutes."

Using their clasped hands to turn her slightly, Damon backed her up against the edge of the desk, narrowing the space between them. "Out of seven, right?"

"So that leaves us with two," she said, catching on to his train of thought. Releasing his hand, she planted both of hers on the desk and boosted herself up onto it, bringing her face level with this.

"This doesn't mean you're off the hook," Damon told her, stepping between her dangling legs and running his hands up and down her jean-clad thighs. "It's going to be slow going, earning back my trust, day by day," he continued, leaning his forehead against hers, tortuously keeping his lips just out of her reach.

"I know," she breathed, inflicting a little torture of her own as she wrapped her legs around his waist and jerked his lower body tightly against hers. The evidence of his arousal was unmistakable. "I can do it," she assured him confidently, smirking as she rotated her hips, causing him to hiss at the friction the movement created.

"Are you sure?" he teased, his lips barely brushing hers as his hands slipped beneath the collar of her jacket, pushing it off of her shoulders and down her arms, his fingertips leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.

"Damon," she growled, tightening her legs around his waist and placing her hands on either side of his neck, her thumbs tracing his strong, square jawline. "Shut up and fucking kiss me."

"No objections," he smirked, before slamming his mouth against hers.

His kiss was soft yet hard, pleading yet insistent, and she purred at the sensation of finally having his lips back where she'd wanted them, firmly pressed against her own. But then Elena wanted more, slipping out her tongue to pry his lips apart and reconnecting with his, the both of them soaked in whiskey and lust. Hands drifting from his neck up into his silky black locks, Elena devoured his mouth, unable to get enough of the taste that she'd so foolishly deprived herself of for the past week.

Damon, for his part, seem to be having the same reaction to her body – his hands everywhere all at once, making up for lost time. One snuck up beneath her blouse, skirting along the underside of her lace-covered breast, asking for permission. Moaning in pleasure and arching her back, she urged him on, bucking her hips wildly when he took her breast fully in his hand, squeezing it gently before rolling the hardened nipple between his fingers through the lace. His other hand went to her ass, grasping and kneading through the denim. Pulling her impossibly tighter against him, lifting her slightly off of the desk, he directed the rhythm of her hips as they ground against his, and Elena could feel his length growing harder and longer with every stroke.

Tearing her mouth from his, owing to the bothersome need for air, Elena leaned her head back, gasping his name as Damon's mouth left a scorching trail of kisses down her neck.

"I gotta say," he mumbled against the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. "This wardrobe change is really working for me."

"I was wondering if you'd noticed," she breathed, her own hands working feverishly at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel more of him too.

"Oh, I noticed," Damon chuckled. "And it definitely has its advantages," he said, quickly withdrawing his hand from beneath her blouse and using it to pull aside its scoop neck. "This might be my favorite outfit yet," he leered up at her, before plunging his face in between her breasts, sending shivers down her spine as he hungrily kissed the swell of her breast. And when he slipped his tongue inside the cup of her bra, swiping it across her nipple, white-hot heat shot through her, desire coiling tightly inside of her. Curling her fingers in his hair, she jerked Damon back up from her chest, crushing her mouth to his again, as his arousal continued to drive against her core, her heels digging into his ass. She could feel her orgasm building, approaching like a freight train, and if Damon's grunts were any indication, he was close too.

And then everything came to a screeching halt.

"We all good in there?" Caroline's shout came through the door together with the sound of whatever she'd used to bar them in being removed.

Dropping her back down on the desk, Damon flew to the door, holding it shut with his weight. "Go away, Blondie."

"Heaven, I take it?" Caroline chuckled, and Elena's eyes locked with Damon's, the both of them grinning at their middle-school antics.

"Something like that," Damon replied, holding her gaze as he listened to the retreating click clack of Caroline's heels. Once they knew she was definitely gone, Damon began to stalk back over to where Elena sat on the desk, and in that moment, she didn't think she'd ever seen anything more beautiful, more sexy, than a well-kissed and aroused Damon Salvatore – his black hair mussed, a thin ring of dark blue surrounding his huge, dilated pupils, his exposed chest heaving with exertion, and the impressive bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans.

"Something like that," Elena confirmed, ready to take him back into her arms and finish what they'd started, but then Damon's phone began to beep. A second later, hers did the same thing. They stared at each other for a moment before Damon reached in his back jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. Reaching behind her, Elena gathered up her jacket, taking her phone out of its internal pocket.

"What a bitch," Damon grumbled, and Elena knew exactly who he meant when she saw the documents from Lexi waiting in her inbox. "Friday night document dumps are the lowest of the low."

Looking back up at each other from their phones, they both deflated a little, realizing that seven minutes would just be seven minutes this time. Wherever this had been going would have to be postponed for now, because the only place that she and Damon were going was back to the office. But Elena smiled, despite the disappointment, because at least now, she was going to tackle the task ahead as part of a team. "Looks like we have our work cut out for us," Elena said, "Glad I have the best M&A lawyer on the West Coast working with me on this one."

Damon's head snapped up, his eyes bright and a broad smile lighting up his face. Stepping forward, he helped her pull her jacket back on, before smoothing down her hair. "I hear you're pretty good, yourself," he said, framing her face with his hands and kissing her lightly.

"Just pretty good?" she countered, buttoning up his shirt as she languidly kissed him back.

"You'll just have to prove it to me," he said, giving her one last peck on the lips before stepping back and holding out his hand to her, helping her off of the desk.

"I will."

* * *

_**Apology accepted? Hope you enjoyed this thank you card ;) Hit review and let me know!**_


	9. Knock, Knock

**The Left Coast**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N: **Broken record time… _**YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!**_ I really can't thank you enough for the continued love and support. Special thanks, as always, to Sandra (dutchtreat) and Chelley (chellethebelle) for their beta and pre-reading work. If you haven't done so already, when you're done reading here, be sure to check out Chelley's new story, _**Uncovered**_. Damon's a former adult film star… 'Nuff said!

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. Likewise for all Bay Area landmarks, buildings, restaurants, etc. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 9 – Knock, Knock**_

Bolting upright, Elena startled awake from her dreamland full of waves, sand and a wetsuit-clad Damon Salvatore. Running a hand through her unruly hair and looking around the darkened hotel room, she wondered what had woken her up so suddenly. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than did she hear two short raps against her door. Reaching for her phone, she checked the time and became increasingly alarmed by the fact that someone was knocking on her door at five in the morning. Climbing out of bed and snagging the terry-cloth bathrobe from where it hung over the corner of the bathroom door, she pulled it on over her blue camisole and plaid sleep shorts, cinching it tightly around her waist as she approached the door.

"Who's there?" she called out quietly, clicking on the overhead entry light and placing her hand on the upright, levered door handle.

"It's me," came the whispered reply, and Elena grinned at hearing the voice from her dream come to life.

Opening the door, her smile faltered though at seeing a clearly out-of-sorts Damon standing in front of her. He appeared to be hastily dressed in an old pair of blue jeans, a gray Stanford Law gym shirt and his leather boots and jacket – definitely not work attire, even for casual Friday. "I'm sorry about the early hour," he said, walking past her into the room, the smell of home-brewed coffee wafting out of the travel mug in his hand. "But it's an emergency."

Worry spiking, Elena shut the door and followed him back inside. "Damon, what's going on?" she asked, hitting the switches to turn on the desk and bedside lamps.

Tipping back his mug, Elena watched as he drained the rest of his coffee before setting the empty cup on the desk and meeting her gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, obviously tired, yet wide open and alert with barely concealed panic and a large dose of caffeine. "There's a fire in the canyon adjacent to the vineyard. It's not on our property yet, but it's close. I have to get up there and help Mom and Stefan."

"Of course," Elena said, immediately grasping the urgency of the situation. She laid a hand on his arm and looked up at him earnestly. "What do you need me to do?"

Grabbing the file folder that was wedged beneath his arm, Damon held it out to her. "My latest revisions. I was planning on processing these changes this morning, so that we could get it back out before tonight."

"I'll take care of it," she told him without a second thought, flipping through the pages of the latest draft of their merger agreement and quickly scanning his handwritten notes. Thankfully, she now had a few weeks of reading his chicken scratch under her belt.

"And the call today," he said, placing a hand over hers, stilling her rifling through the papers and bringing her eyes back up to his.

Keeping their gazes locked, Elena tossed the file folder on the desk behind her. "Don't worry about it. I'll cover for you."

One side of Damon's mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile as he closed the distance between them, taking her hand fully in his and interlacing their fingers. "What a difference a week makes."

"Huge," she chuckled lightly, letting her eyes slip shut and breathing in his morning scent of coffee and leather, as he bent his head down and brushed his lips against hers.

Her word choice was no exaggeration. To say their professional relationship had done a complete one-eighty since their blow up – and make-out – a week ago would be an understatement. Lexi had buried them in document revisions and last-minute diligence requests all week long, severely limiting any out of office action to a few stolen kisses each day, but inside the office, they were now on the same wavelength, working like a well-oiled, albeit sleep-deprived, machine.

She'd been on her best behavior, dividing up work and responsibilities evenly, taking the time to consult with Damon if any of her revisions affected his documents, and yesterday, he'd even trusted her to coordinate with his diligence teams so that he could hash out these latest changes with Lexi. It was a new way of operating for Elena – sharing the load and viewing a colleague as an asset instead of a hindrance or worse, the competition – but she was getting used to it, learning to appreciate it even. Of course, it didn't hurt that said colleague was smart, gorgeous and one hell of a kisser.

"Thank you," he mumbled against her lips, and she could feel his tense shoulders relax a little under the arm she'd slung across them, her fingers threading through the ends of his hair just above his collar.

"Don't mention it," she grinned, leaning back and running her hand along the side of his face, tracing the dark circles under his eyes with her thumb. "You going to be okay to drive?"

"I'll be fine," he replied, tucking a few strands of her frizzy morning hair behind her ear, before glancing over at his coffee mug. "That's the third one I've had this morning."

"Well, that explains the SpongeBob eyes," she giggled.

"Did you just compare me to a giant, yellow cartoon figure?" Damon feigned offense, narrowing his eyes at her. "You're gonna pay for that," he playfully threatened, lifting her up onto the desk and untying her robe, shamelessly giving her scantily clad figure a lustful once-over. "Cute PJs."

"Uh, uh, uh," Elena responded, batting his hands away, even as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. "You promised to wine and dine me first, remember."

"Call it a preview," he smirked, before hungrily claiming her lips again and pushing his hands inside of the open robe, his thumbs teasing her nipples through her thin camisole. Moaning, Elena curled her fists into his t-shirt and deepened the kiss, their lips parting and tongues colliding. Skirting down her sides, Damon's hands had just found their way beneath her top, his fingertips stroking the undersides of her breasts and causing her to thrust her chest wantonly toward him, when the sound of Mick Jagger's voice – singing about sympathy for the devil – came blaring out of Damon's coat pocket.

Elena couldn't help but laugh as Damon groaned in frustration, reluctantly removing his hands from her body and reaching inside of his coat for the phone. "That'd be Stefan," he said, silencing the ringer before looking back up at her pitifully. "I gotta go," he pouted, lightly pecking her lips. "I moved our dinner reservation to nine. I should be back in time. Grab the change of clothes from my office for me?"

"Sure thing," she smiled softly. Damon had insisted on taking her on a proper date, which she'd conceded to, assuming they made an adequate dent in their workload by the end of the week. They were on schedule to turn everything back to Lexi today, even with her making these changes for Damon. "But don't worry if you can't make it back. You do what you need to do. I'll take Bonnie with me, if I have to."

"I'm frightened of the kind of damage you two could do with Benu's wine list," he mocked, shivering exaggeratedly.

"Oh, you should be," she winked impishly, patting him on the cheek before scooting off of the desk and leading him toward the door.

Her hand was on the lever to open the door when Damon suddenly grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall, before crashing his lips down onto hers. His hands dove into her hair, fisting in the strands and angling her head so that he could devour her mouth in a searing goodbye kiss. After a few intense seconds, he pulled away, leaning his forehead against hers, as they both struggled to catch their breath.

"Thank you, again," he said, his hands framing her face.

Moving her own hands from where they rested on either side of his neck, she laid them over his. "Just be safe. And then come back and finish what you've started."

Smirking, he swooped in for one final peck. "Count on it."

* * *

Knocking – incessant, loud, obnoxious knocking – not like Damon's quiet taps from yesterday morning, sounded through her hotel room.

Groaning, Elena turned over in the bed and covered her head with a pillow, futilely trying to drown out the vexing noise. The bass drum already beating inside of her head _really_ didn't need the backup.

But then cymbals joined the band too – a text notice chiming from her phone on the bedside table. Cursing, she rolled onto her back and slung out her arm, grabbing the insufferable device and holding it up above her face. Her eyes went to the time first – 6:00AM – and then to the text message.

_Damon Salvatore: I'm sorry._

Irritation evaporating, she smiled wistfully and tapped out a quick response.

_I told you not to worry about it. Though your wallet might be feeling some pain …_

And so was her head, though she couldn't say it hadn't been worth it. When Damon had called her late yesterday afternoon to tell her he wasn't going to make it back in time for their dinner, she'd been disappointed but had reassured him that it was fine, that his family's livelihood and legacy were far more important than a date. He'd insisted that she still go, not wanting her to miss out on the culinary experience that was the James Beard award-wining chef and owner of Benu, Corey Lee.

And what an experience it had been. She and Bonnie had been cordially greeted by name at the door, and sixteen exquisite, delicious courses and god only knew how many bottles of wine later, they'd stumbled out of the restaurant and into a waiting town car. It had only been when she'd staggered into her hotel room and found every solid surface covered in roses that her alcohol-soaked brain vaguely registered that she'd never been presented with a check, that Damon must have taken care of the bill ahead of time.

His reply text chimed a few seconds later.

_As long as you two enjoyed yourselves, it was worth every penny. But that's not what I was apologizing for…_

_What then?_ Elena typed back, continuing to ignore the relentless knocking, hoping that whoever it was had the wrong room and would figure it out sooner rather than later.

_Or not_, she thought to herself, reading Damon's latest reply.

_Caroline is on her way to see you._

Rolling the rest of the way out of bed, Elena grabbed her robe, dropped her phone into the pocket and headed for the door, opening it to the bright-eyed, cheerful blonde.

"Surprise!" she shouted, causing Elena to wince.

"Oh sorry," Caroline apologized, lowering her voice. "Here," she said, holding out a coffee cup. "This should help."

"Thanks," Elena grumbled, taking the offered drink and opening the door wider for the other woman to enter. "Give me a minute," she said, excusing herself and ducking into the bathroom, chuckling a little in spite of her annoyance at Caroline's whispered shout of "Holy Shit!", no doubt having finally noticed the overabundance of roses in the room.

Setting the coffee cup on the sink counter and pulling out her phone, Elena opened up the text conversation with Damon and scrolled to the top, pressing 'Call.' He picked up after the first ring. "How many more bouquets do I need to send you?"

She relaxed back against the closed door with a smile. "There are not enough flowers in the world, mister." She heard him laugh in response on the other end of the line, but she could also hear the fatigue in his voice. "How are things there?"

"We're fine, for now. Just tired. The fire is contained to the canyon, but we spent all of yesterday and last night spraying stuff down. Stef's up in the air now, doing water drops to help out the neighboring property."

"Up in the air?" she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion, as she picked up her drink and took a sip.

"In our plane," he answered simply, before affecting a sarcastic tone. "You know, those big metallic birds that fly in the sky."

"Seriously?!" Elena exclaimed, nearly spitting out her coffee in disbelief, as she lowered herself onto the edge of the tub. "You have a plane?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" he replied, the smirk evident in his voice. "Play your cards right, and I might just take you up in it sometime."

"Maybe we should start with dinner," she laughed, and then instantly regretted her choice of words when Damon rushed to apologize again.

"Elena, I'm sorry about missing our date."

"It's okay," she repeated sincerely. "I'm just glad you're alright, and Bonnie and I had a great time. Thank you, by the way, for dinner and the roses."

"No problem," he said softly, before clearing his throat as if he was preparing to say something more serious.

But then there was a knock on the bathroom door, followed by Caroline's high-pitched voice. "Elena, you okay in there?"

"I'm fine," she called back, before chugging a large mouthful of coffee and turning her attention to the phone again. "Now _that_, you can apologize for."

"I _am_ sorry. I had no idea she was already there. I didn't expect her to show up this early. Must be worse than I thought."

"What is?" Elena asked, taking another swig of caffeine.

"Barbie gets freaked out when this kind of stuff happens. Last time there was a fire, she had a full blown panic attack and wound up in the hospital. She could use someone to distract her today, a friend."

_A friend._ Besides Bonnie, Elena didn't really have any other friends outside of her family. After law school, and after Matt, she hadn't really had the time or the heart to invest in someone else. Bonnie had been the exception, bulldozing her way in, as she was prone to do. Then Damon had come along, and suddenly her life was full of potential friends – Liz, Ric, Stefan and the woman on the other side of the bathroom door who had been nothing but kind to her since the day they'd met. Caroline had fed her, laughed and drank with her, more than entertained her, and if it weren't for the blonde mediator-slash-matchmaker, she and Damon would probably still be clawing each other's eyes out.

This past week alone, she'd had coffee, scotch eggs and other pub snacks waiting for them whenever they needed a change of scenery, and she'd sent one of her line cooks over to the office every night with dinner. Caroline had been her friend, had made the time for her. Elena couldn't begrudge her the same kindness in return, especially now when she seemed to need it the most.

Gulping down the rest of her coffee, she pitched the empty cup into the trashcan and stood, leveling herself with a determined stare in the mirror. "I'll take care of her."

"Thank you," Damon replied, the warmth in his voice sending tingles down her spine and a flush to her cheeks.

"You're welcome," she said, her own voice dropping an octave or two lower, before a decidedly more shrill one came through the door again.

"Are you two having phone sex?"

Damon's hysterical laughter carried over the line, sending Elena into a fit of giggles as well. "Okay," she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. "I have to go deal with your future sister-in-law before she wakes up the entire hotel. Stay safe."

"Stay sane," he chuckled, before the call went dead.

Smiling, Elena slipped the phone back into her pocket and opened the door, finding Caroline on the other side, impatiently tapping her foot with her arms folded across her chest.

"Phone sex does not usually involve laughter," she said with mock sternness, a teasing smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

"And you would know this because?" Elena asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I live here in town. My fiancé does not. I'm what you'd call an _expert,"_ Caroline grinned, nodding and pointing at herself with her two thumbs.

"I'll keep that in mind, for future reference," Elena winked, looping her arm through Caroline's and leading her back into the room. "So, what are we doing today?"

"I've got it all planned out," Caroline beamed, plopping down on the edge of the bed with an excited bounce and rattling off their to-do list.

Turning to her closet, Elena grabbed a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, her new Giants hoodie and her Chucks. Comfy clothes for what sounded like a jam-packed day, all in the name of newfound friendships. She could, she would, do this – for Caroline, for Damon, for herself.

_Here we go._

* * *

They'd spent the morning at the Ferry Building Farmer's Market, Caroline buying fresh produce, local meats, artisan cheeses and other mouth-watering foodstuffs for the restaurant. Elena had been a little awestruck at first, blown away by the sheer number of purveyors, but Caroline had known exactly which tents to visit, greeting her favorite vendors with a hug before getting down to business. Watching Caroline go from bubbly blonde to hard-nosed negotiator had been well worth dragging her hung-over ass out of bed for, as were all of the samples she'd tried and the Blue Bottle Coffee that had thankfully vanquished her headache. With two full rolling coolers in tow, they'd made the short walk over to the pub, dropping off the items they'd carried back with them and leaving a note for Ric as to when the rest of the deliveries were scheduled to arrive that afternoon.

From there, they'd hopped in Caroline's Ford Fiesta and headed over the Bay Bridge to Oakland, pulling up behind Miette Bakery, which Elena recalled seeing a small storefront for in the Ferry Building earlier. This location, however, Elena had quickly deduced was the main bakery, and when they'd been led over to a table full of cake slices and pictures of white tiered fondant masterpieces, she'd realized exactly what they were doing there.

"I needed a second opinion," Caroline had said, looking over at her with wide, pleading blue eyes.

Elena had raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me I'm not the only person you've consulted on your wedding cake options."

"Okay, a tenth opinion," Caroline had confessed, throwing her hands up in the air before breaking out a mischievous grin. "Besides, are you really going to pass up the chance to taste the best cakes in the Bay Area?"

"Hell no," Elena had replied without hesitation, the both of them bursting out laughing, before spending the next two hours ingesting a lifetime's worth of sugar and unsuccessfully coming to any final conclusions.

An hour later, when they were back in San Francisco and Elena had been struggling to zip up a fifth dress, she'd wondered if perhaps they'd done things a bit out of order. But then as Caroline had emerged from her dressing area, smiling brightly and looking like a true princess in a beautiful lace and beaded white silk gown, Elena had forgotten all about the order of things.

"What do you think?" Caroline had asked.

"I think you're the most beautiful bride I've ever seen," she'd replied honestly, her cheeks hurting from her own wide smile.

"I don't mean about my dress, silly," Caroline had said, waving off the compliment. "I was talking about the ones you've tried on."

"Oh," Elena had replied, glancing down at the red dress she had on and then over at the various others hanging on the rack. "I'd say this one or the blue one."

"Well, as between those two then?" Caroline had persisted.

"The blue is pretty, but it seems a little safe," she'd answered.

"So, the red dress?"

Looking at herself in the mirror, Elena had spun around, watching the long chiffon skirt flare out around her. "That'd be my pick, but it's not really my call to make. It's your wedding, Caroline. You should ask your bridesmaids."

"I am," Caroline had replied, her misty blue eyes meeting her brown ones in the mirror.

"What?" Elena had gasped in shock.

"One of my bridesmaids accepted a job overseas," Caroline had explained. "So, I'm one girl down. Mom said your deal is supposed to close the week before the wedding, so you'll still be here, and I'd really love it if you'd do me the honor."

It was the last thing Elena had expected, in less than eight hours, going from just opening herself up to this friendship to declaring herself all in, agreeing to be one of Caroline's bridesmaids. But it'd only taken Caroline a minute or two more of begging, and the mental image of Damon in a tux, before Elena had said yes.

Afterward, they'd shared a celebratory drink at the pub, as Caroline had begun prepping for dinner service. Once Bonnie had arrived, having finally drug herself out of bed by dinnertime, Elena had somehow found herself behind the bar, reliving her early twenties glory days when she'd been a law student by day and bartender by night. Ric had been thoroughly impressed that her knowledge extended beyond just bourbon and by her ability to handle the Saturday night crowd, easily mixing cocktails and adding her own twists on a few. By the end of the night, as they were closing up, he'd even offered her an assistant manager position, if she ever decided to leave the legal practice.

At the end of a day full of surprises, one more had been waiting for her back at the hotel. Having entered her room through the adjoining door to Bonnie's, she hadn't immediately noticed the soft light emanating from her bathroom. It was only after she'd toed off her Converse and moved to toss them into the closet with her hoodie, that the scent of lavender caught her nose. Following the delicate fragrance to the bathroom, she could hardly believe her eyes when she'd stepped through the doorway and found the room lit with several dozen tea lights and a steaming bath full of bubbles.

At one corner of the tub had sat a bottle of wine, a glass and a note with _Ms. Gilbert_ written on it in an unfamiliar scrawl. Picking up the tall slender bottle, she'd run her thumb across the simple label – ivory with "Monte Corvo" scripted in silver across a pair of black, outstretched crow's wings – a 2004 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon from the Salvatore family vineyard. Only one person could have pulled it off. Reaching for the card, she'd flipped it open, noting that it was on the Hotel Manager's personal letterhead.

_Compliments of Mr. D. Salvatore_

Just as he'd surprised her the night before with a room full of roses, he'd somehow managed to find out exactly when she'd left the pub and had everything set up for the precise moment that she'd arrived back at her temporary home. She'd made a mental note to talk to Bonnie, Ric and her new blonde bestie tomorrow about their conspiring ways, but she hadn't dwelled on it long, the hot water calling to her aching feet. Two glasses of Cab later, she'd climbed out of the tub and dried herself off, supremely relaxed and ready to get some much needed rest.

Opening her closet, she'd grabbed a pair of panties from one of the built-in drawers, sliding them on, before reaching for her usual sleep attire, her hand absently brushing against Damon's garment bag that she'd brought from the office on Friday. Unable to resist the temptation, she'd unzipped the black leather carrier and his scent had enveloped her, sending a rush of heat coursing through her body. She hadn't wasted a second pulling his black dress shirt off of the hanger and slipping it on, the Varvatos-tagged cotton as soft and cool as silk against her warmed skin. Sliding between her sheets, her eyelids feeling as heavy as bricks by then, she'd lifted the sleeve cuff to her nose and inhaled deeply, her last thoughts of Damon as she'd drifted off to sleep.

* * *

If the wetness at the juncture of her legs the next morning was any indication, Elena had continued to think about Damon in her dreams. He'd been a regular star in her nighttime fantasies since they'd first met, in good times and in bad, so she was no stranger by now to waking up aroused. Nor was she a stranger to taking care of her needs as a result thereof. Letting her legs fall open, she took her left breast in one hand, messaging it through the sun-warmed cotton of his shirt, as her right hand traveled up her thigh, bringing the hem of the shirt with it. She grazed over the crotch of her lace panties, gasping at how soaked-through they were, before flattening her palm against her pelvis and dipping her fingers beneath the lace, seeking out her release. She was scant millimeters from her throbbing target when the blissful morning silence was shattered.

By someone knocking on her door. Again.

"Not fair!" Elena shouted, snatching her hand out from her underwear and pounding the bed with her heels and fists like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum.

A second later her phone chimed. Picking it up, she was ready to smash it against the wall when the text message caught her eye.

_Damon Salvatore: What's not fair? BTW, knock, knock._

She was out of the bed and throwing the door open before he had the chance to knock or text again. With the morning light streaming in from behind her and at the end of the hallway, Damon was more beautiful than she'd ever seen him – his dark hair wind-blown, his skin practically glowing and his eyes clear, bright and burning blue.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, as those fiery eyes of his raked over her body, reminding her that she was standing before him in nothing but lace panties and his dress shirt.

Damon placed one hand on her waist and the other on the door, pushing her back into the room and opening the door wider so that he could step over the threshold. Slamming it shut behind him, he pressed her up against the same wall where he'd kissed her goodbye two days ago. "Finishing what I started," he answered huskily, bringing his lips down to hers and picking up right where he'd left off.

Surprise quickly gave way to desire, her hands threading through his hair as she kissed him greedily. Wanting him closer, Elena hooked a leg around his hip, thrusting against his already impressive arousal. He groaned into her mouth, his hand smoothing up her bare thigh and over her lace covered rear, before he ripped his lips from hers.

"God, I missed you," he panted against the sensitive skin of her neck, his voice hoarse with need, as his other hand closed around her breast.

"I know. Me too," she replied breathlessly, throwing her head back against the wall as her eyes rolled back with pleasure.

_Wait_!

Elena's eyes shot open. Had she just said that? That she missed him? Is that what that empty feeling in her chest had been all weekend? Was that why it felt like a jolt to her heart when she'd swung open her door and found him standing there?

_Shit!_

Oblivious to her rising panic, Damon's hands had begun to unbutton her - _his_ - shirt, as he peppered kisses across her collarbone. "You mind if we skip the date part and go straight to the after party?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Elena fought to reconcile her body's reaction to his sensual ministrations and her mind's flight response that was kicking into overdrive. "Only if you shower first," she replied, grasping at the first thing she could think of to stall. "You smell like Smokey the Bear."

"You wanna join me?" he offered seductively.

Lowering her leg and placing her palms against his chest, Elena pushed him back far enough for her to slip out from between his body and the wall. "That shower is not big enough for two. Now go," she said, slapping his ass to hopefully convincingly cover her inner meltdown.

Rolling his eyes, Damon nevertheless did as she asked, and when she heard the water start up, Elena finally let out the breath she'd been holding. Walking over to the window, she looked out at the sunlit City and inhaled the sweet smelling roses that lined her windowsill, her mind working overtime to sort out her current predicament.

This thing with Damon was only supposed to be fun; her heart wasn't supposed to get tangled up in it. But the minute those traitorous words had left her mouth, she'd known the truth. She'd been lying to herself to think otherwise. She hadn't just wanted to regain his trust for professional reasons. She hadn't spent all day yesterday with his future sister-in-law or tended bar last night with his best friend only because she enjoyed Caroline and Ric's company. She hadn't smelled these roses, drank that wine or worn his shirt to bed just because she wanted fun. She _had_ missed him, and all those things had kept him near her during his absence. Her heart was definitely involved – there was no pretending otherwise – and while that thought terrified her, another part of her felt alive for the first time in years.

It was that latter part of her – the one that had been buried under ice for far too long – that won out when a warm chest pressed against her back and strong arms wound around her middle.

Pulling back her hair, Damon nuzzled his nose just behind her ear. "I thought we were done lying to each other."

"We are," she said, her words carrying more meaning than he could possibly realize.

"Then how come you told me that shower was only big enough for one," he said, nipping playfully at her earlobe.

Chuckling lightly, Elena closed her eyes and relaxed back into his chest, letting out the cold strings binding her heart and welcoming the thaw.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I just needed a minute."

She could tell exactly when it clicked for him. Inhaling sharply, his arms tightened around her waist before loosening just enough to turn her around. His eyes were full of concern and understanding. "Elena, we don't have to-"

Shooting up on her tiptoes, Elena silenced him with a tender kiss, before pulling back and locking her gaze with his. "I want this, Damon. I want you."

"Yeah?" he said, a radiant smile blooming on his face and brightening his eyes.

"Yeah," she replied assuredly, her heart and mind finally in sync.

Taking a step back, Elena openly admired the specimen before her – Damon, freshly showered, and in nothing but a low-slung towel. Her eyes followed a drop of water that trickled from the ends of his dark hair, down his well-toned chest, escaping the lean, muscled arms he folded across his chest, before it raced over his abs and beneath the towel that did nothing to hide the well-defined V of his hips or his still-present erection.

"Like what you see?" he smirked confidently.

"Mmmhmm," Elena purred, curling her fingers around the knot that held up his towel and using it to pull him closer once more. Her tongue darted out to divert the flow of another droplet of water down his chest.

"I like this look on you, too," Damon said, his hands going to the buttons of the dress shirt she still wore, his fingers deftly undoing the rest of them one by one. "You look good in my clothes."

"I'm surprised you're not angry at me for sleeping in it," she countered, loosening the towel until it fell to the floor while backing them both up toward the bed.

"I'm only angry that I wasn't in the bed with you," he replied, unfastening the final button and then pushing the shirt off of her shoulders so that it joined his towel on the floor.

"Well, you know how to rectify that, now don't you?" she smirked up at him.

"I think I do," he grinned wickedly, and in the next instant, her backside hit the bed, bouncing slightly until his body pinned hers to the mattress.

Damon's mouth closed over hers, cutting off any retort, and there were few words spoken after that – just the erotic sounds of their bodies coming together in the otherwise silent morning. Their kisses, loud and unchecked, as lips, tongues and teeth nipped, clashed and soothed. The suckling pop his mouth made when he released one nipple, and then the other, after working each of them into a painfully pleasurable state. Her whimper as his fingers followed the path that hers had ventured earlier, dipping below the lace of her panties, and his answering groan when he found her wet and ready from him. Making up for his initial interruption, Damon plunged one finger and then two between her folds, penetrating her briefly before gliding his slickened fingers up to her clit, rubbing and circling, until a keening wail escaped her lips. He growled, his erection thrusting against her hip, as her inner walls pulsed and clenched around his fingers, which he'd slipped back inside of her center just as she orgasmed.

Once she caught her breath, Elena pushed him over onto his back with an "oomph", before quickly shedding her underwear and then straddling one of his thighs. She was pleased to hear his clenched teeth hiss, as her tongue teased his nipple and her hand firmly griped his cock, pumping it in time with her hips that ground against his leg. When she felt herself steadily approaching another release, Elena flipped them back over, guiding Damon's erection to her entrance. His hand, which had been fondling her breast, snapped down to her wrist, stopping her motion as his eyes grew wide, locking with hers.

"I'm covered," she said with a nod. "You?"

"Clean," he replied, releasing her wrist and bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. His hips sunk down and hers bucked up, finally joining them together, and the both of them gasped at the sensation. Slow, measured strokes soon gave way to the frantic slap of hips and skin, as Damon drove into her, his grunts drowning out everything else, until finally he whispered, "Come with me", in her ear. She went hurtling over the edge, crying out his name, and bringing him right along with her.

Collapsing in a mass of tangled limbs, their panted breaths calmed to soft kisses, before Damon eventually passed out from exhaustion beside her, snoring lightly. After a week of little sleep and then two days of practically none at all, Elena was honestly amazed that he'd lasted as long as he did.

Raising herself up on one elbow, she reached out a hand to brush the still damp hair off of his forehead, reminding her of that day she'd found him asleep in her office and how she'd envied his peacefulness. While Damon had certainly turned her world upside down, filling her life with new friends and at times taking her on an emotional roller coaster ride, it was hard to deny that he'd also given her more moments of peace in the past three weeks than she'd experienced in years. Smiling and snuggling back against his side, Elena laid her head against his chest, listening to Damon's heart beat in time with hers and deciding that those precious moments of long forgotten peace were as good a reason as any to open her heart to this man.

* * *

_**There you have it… the thaw is on ;) Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_

_**FYI - follow me on twitter - laylareyne – for updates, spoilers and other extras.**_


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